


Unlikely Saviour

by thegrimmscully



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU DH, AU HBP, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Spanking, M/M, completed work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 269,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimmscully/pseuds/thegrimmscully
Summary: In which Harry is saved, Draco is devious, family and friends are both trial and comfort, and power is key.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling and various publishers/media entities. No money is being made from the Internet-only publication of this work of fiction. No copyright/trademark infringement or offence is intended. This was written for fun.
> 
> This work disregards HBP and DH.

Chapter 1

 

_“Potter.”_

After a pause in which the silence echoed weirdly, the hushed voice said again, more urgently: “Potter!”

There was no response.

The cloaked form moved silently out of the shadows, stepping over the unconscious man at his feet. He cautiously approached the opposite wall.

The single torch he’d left flickering revealed a man’s limp body hanging from wrist shackles bolted to the cellar wall. Even in the poor lighting, it was clear the man was in terrible shape. His face was swollen and bruised from repeated beatings. He wore only the tattered remnants of a shirt and filthy torn trousers. Flaking dried blood that appeared almost black in the shadows covered his chest and face.

Taking only a moment to catalogue Harry Potter’s appearance, Draco Malfoy swiftly unlocked the thick iron manacles holding Potter to the wall, wincing at the dull scrape of metal against stone. He did his best not let him drop to the floor, but Potter was cumbersome dead weight, and he was only partially successful. Seeing as Potter was unconscious and already battered head to toe, Draco didn’t really think it mattered too much.

Reaching under his robes, Draco pulled out a small metal hoop and gently expanded it to its full size; it gleamed dully in the shifting torchlight. After placing it carefully, soundlessly, on the stone floor, he studied Potter. He was going to have to wake him up for this to work.

First he cast a Silencing spell—he didn’t want Potter waking up and yelling and thereby giving them away. Then he pointed his wand and whispered almost inaudibly, _“Rennervate.”_

Potter stirred and Draco could tell he moaned, though he made no sound.

“Potter, wake up,” he said, shaking Potter’s arm. Potter’s eyelids flickered and his mouth twisted in pain.

‘Fuck this,’ Draco thought, the need to _hurry, hurry, hurry_ pressing down upon him. Time was only one of his enemies.

_“Wingardium Leviosa,”_ he muttered under his breath.

Potter’s body lifted gently off the ground, and he finally seemed to wake up a little.

“What? What’s happening? Malfoy?”

Draco could read Potter’s lips clearly, even in the dim lighting. He held a finger to his own lips and shook his head to indicate he wasn’t going to say anything.

Using his wand to move Potter into an upright position, Draco then manoeuvred his floating body into the hoop before squeezing in with him. Wrapping both arms around Potter, he ended the Levitation spell.

“You’ve got to help a little here, Potter,” he hissed. “Try to stand.”

Clearly out of it, Potter shook his head as if to clear it. He grimaced at the movement and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, clearly in pain. But then he shifted and succeeded at putting some weight on his feet. Draco kept one arm around him to keep him upright, Potter leaning against him heavily, and somehow managed to levitate the hoop up around their waists without dropping him. He secured it in place with a handy hover charm. Potter looked at him questioningly, dazed confusion in his bruised eyes.

“I’m getting us out of here,” Draco whispered, and then he closed his eyes. He had to do this exactly right, or they’d likely be splinched—not something Draco wanted to experience. He fought down the nerves twisting in his belly, fingers clenching convulsively on the smooth wood of his wand. There would be no turning back after this. Concentrating hard on the three Ds, he Apparated them away.

 

*****

 

They landed in the Forbidden Forest not far from the gates of Hogwarts. Draco released a sigh of relief. He’d done it.

Potter, though, was barely conscious again. Removing the hoop, he lowered Potter to the ground before securing the shrunken hoop under his robes again.

Scanning the area cautiously, Draco figured they were safe for the moment. In the dark shadows of the great trees with only the smallest sliver of a moon providing light, the two men were well concealed. Now he had a decision to make.

What did he do with Potter? Clearly the man wasn’t going to be able to walk up to the gates and ask for entrance, which had been Draco’s vague original plan. Granted, that hadn’t been a very well thought out plan. He’d known the shape Potter was in all too well. But he’d been more concerned about the part of the plan that got the two of them out of that cellar than the part dealing with how to get Potter into Hogwarts. All Draco’s time and effort had been spent focussed on getting the hoop ready and timing out the details of the rescue.

Pursing his lips, Draco kept his eyes roving over the trees and the gaps between them, mindful of the fact that any of the creatures that lived in the forest could be watching. It gave him the creeps but he’d grown accustomed to being watched and always being on the alert in the past few months. He knew the value, the essential nature of being on guard at all times. But even as he maintained part of his awareness on his surroundings, cataloguing the rustle of leaves in a light breeze and the scent of rotting wood and plant life, he pondered his options. He supposed he could drag Potter over to the gates and hope that someone discovered him soon or that Potter woke up and got himself some help.

Draco surveyed Potter where he lay in a crumpled heap on the damp, leaf-scattered ground. Snow covered the Hogwarts landscape he could see stretching out before him, but they were deep enough in the forest that there wasn’t much accumulation beneath the heavy forest canopy. Still, it was very cold. If Draco left Potter alone in the middle of the night, he’d probably die of exposure, if not the wounds he’d already incurred, and Draco hadn’t gone through all that trouble to rescue Potter just to have him die as soon as he was free.

He knew the man was bad off. He knew exactly what Potter had experienced while held captive—repeated beatings, frequent magical torture. He’d even done some of it himself.

Potter was lucky to be alive. Well, half-alive at any rate. Studying him critically, Draco realised the man looked pretty close to death. His face was a ghastly grey, and Draco could see how gaunt he was, skin stretched tight over his bones. Cuts and lash marks scored his chest and back. One badly blackened eye was swollen shut, and the other didn’t look a hell of a lot better. Draco suspected at least one of his shoulders was dislocated—he’d been hanging by his wrists from a wall for days. He was black and blue all over, though some of the older bruises had faded to sickly greens and yellows. A reddish-brown crust of dried blood covered him—his body, his face, his hair, and what remained of his clothing. The left side of his face and neck were covered in blood from where the tip of his ear had been cut off. Draco winced just looking at it.

It amazed him Potter was still alive. Of course, he’d been given some potions to keep him that way. And they’d healed some of the deeper cuts, so he didn’t bleed to death. The Dark Lord hadn’t wanted Potter dead—yet. He’d wanted the pleasure of torturing Potter, and he’d wanted information. He’d desperately wanted information about some prophecy—apparently one Draco’s father and some other Death Eaters had failed to retrieve from the Department of Mysteries over a year ago. His father was out of Azkaban now, as were his aunt and most of the other Death Eaters who’d been captured on that disastrous mission. They’d been punished most severely for their failure, but they were out of prison and back at the Dark Lord’s beck and call. And he’d called them often to torture Harry Potter.

What Draco really couldn’t comprehend, though, was the fact that Potter hadn’t said one word. No matter what they’d done to him, he hadn’t given away a single piece of information. At first, he’d been a bit cheeky with some of his retorts to their questions, but he’d soon fallen back on simply remaining silent—except when he was screaming, of course. How could anyone undergo torture the way Potter had and not tell everything he knew? Draco knew he couldn’t have maintained his silence. Even knowing he’d probably be killed as soon as he confessed everything, he would have blabbed. Death probably would have looked pretty good after suffering the various sadistic forms of torture Potter had been put through.

Draco felt a reluctant sort of admiration for Potter. He was either the bravest, most stubborn person he’d ever met or the most foolish.

He still had the problem of what to do with Potter. Draco looked around the shadowy forest, silent except for the rustle of leaves on the trees. He shivered, as much from the cold as from the atmosphere. A few stars shone through the treetops. If only he were a centaur—perhaps the stars could tell him what to do.

He could send his Patronus to let whoever was in the castle know Potter was out here. Then he could Disapparate and go into hiding as he’d planned. It was the logical, safe thing to do.

But there was something about Potter. He’d never liked him, had always considered him an annoying, arrogant prat. But the way he’d withstood torture…it said something about the man he was. It said something about his determination to win this war, to never give in. If the rest of his side were half as dedicated and determined as Potter, they’d win the war.

And he couldn’t forget the way Potter had stared at him while he was being tortured. Except when they’d been squeezed shut in agony, his eyes had never left Draco’s. It had given Draco the willies at times. At other times, he’d felt as though Potter’s green gaze could somehow see into the deepest recesses of his soul. See things Draco didn’t even know about himself. Understand things about Draco that Draco himself didn’t fully understand. Sometimes Draco thought that Potter might actually know…

He could go into hiding. It would be miserable living on the run with little money, no friends, and no help. He’d have to keep moving, and his life would consist of nothing but fear. And no matter who won the war, he’d probably never be able to return home. He’d eventually have to move far away and assume a new identity. And still he’d forever be looking over his shoulder. That was assuming he lived, of course.

His only other choice wasn’t much more appealing. He could use his Patronus to summon help and wait with Potter. He knew he would be captured. Probably imprisoned. There was one person who could possibly prevent this, but if he betrayed Draco… He didn’t think Potter’s side would torture him, though he wasn’t entirely sure of this. He didn’t completely trust Dumbledore, even if he had…

Then there was the rumour going around the Death Eaters about Dumbledore. Draco didn’t believe the rumour, as the Dark Lord hadn’t confirmed it, which he most certainly would have done if he knew it to be true. But there was still the chance it was true, and if it was, it didn’t bode well for Draco.

He had no idea if anyone would ever believe him if he told his tale, even if he could. Which he couldn’t. If he was betrayed, or if the rumour about Dumbledore was true, he was doomed. Perhaps he wouldn’t be betrayed. Perhaps the fact that he’d rescued Potter would be enough to keep him out of prison. He looked at Potter again, lying motionless and broken. Potter was their icon, their hope. Maybe Potter would vouch for him. He couldn’t count on that, though. He may have saved Potter, but he’d also participated in torturing him. As little as he could get away with but still. Just the fact he’d participated at all might be enough to damn him irreparably.

But if his story could be told and they did believe him…if he wasn’t betrayed or imprisoned…and if—and this was a big if—if Potter’s side won, he would be free. He wouldn’t have to live his life in hiding, in constant fear.

As Draco saw it, he really didn’t have that big of a choice to make. If he took his first option, he’d either die or live the rest of his life on the run. He didn’t like either of those ideas. If he allowed himself to be taken captive by Potter’s side, he at least had a chance.

He heard Potter moan behind him just as he came to his reluctant decision. Apparently his Silencing charm had worn off. Turning, he saw the battered man stirring.

“Don’t try to move, Potter,” Draco cautioned, crouching down next to him.

“What? Where…is that you, Malfoy?” Potter croaked out the words.

“Yes, it’s me,” Draco replied, keeping his voice down. He was a bit surprised Potter could even see, what with his one eye swollen shut and not having any glasses. “Now stay still.”

“Where are we?” Potter’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed.

“Hogwarts,” Draco said shortly. Conjuring a glass, he used the Aguamenti charm to fill it with water. Potter took it gratefully.

“Don’t drink too fast,” Draco warned him. “It’ll likely come right back up, and if you get sick, I’m not dealing with it.”

Despite the circumstances, Potter’s cracked lips twitched in apparent amusement.

Draco supported Potter so he could be somewhat upright to drink. They remained silent as Potter slowly drank down the glass of water. When he was finished, he set the glass on the ground with a hand that trembled. Possibly from weakness, but more likely as an aftereffect of being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse so many times.

“Thank you.”

Draco nodded and let Potter back down to lie on the ground.

“I think I also need to thank you for rescuing me,” Potter added. His voice was still hoarse, but it was a little better.

Draco shrugged. He wasn’t completely comfortable with Potter thanking him, though he had risked his own neck to do it.

Draco stood. “It’s time to get you some help.” So saying, he cast his Patronus and watched the silvery shimmering wolf bound away into the castle. And resigned himself to his fate.

 

*****

 

Harry never knew exactly what message Draco sent with his Patronus, but it sure got a quick response. Draco had only just moved him from the forest to just in front of the gates and gotten him settled on the ground when Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, and Madam Pomfrey approached the gates. They looked wary but quite relieved to see Harry alive. They didn’t seem all that pleased to see Draco in his Death Eater robes, however. Draco stood a short distance apart from Harry, his wand clearly visible as he held his arms out a little way from his sides, to indicate he posed no threat.

After a hastily whispered conference, McGonagall opened the gates. She immediately cast several spells. Apparently the results satisfied her, as she motioned for the others to follow her. She and Hagrid immediately went to Draco, McGonagall with wand drawn. Draco showed no reaction other than to offer his wand. McGonagall took it, looking suspiciously at him. Madam Pomfrey went directly to Harry and began speaking to him softly as she ran her wand over him.

“Malfoy saved me,” Harry tried to say but broke out into a fit of coughing. The coughing made his chest ache and brought tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away.

“Hush, don’t try to talk,” Madam Pomfrey soothed.

“No, I…” He tried to sit up but didn’t manage it as Pomfrey gently pushed him back down. He gasped as his shoulder came into contact with the cold, hard ground again.

“Don’t try to move either, Mr Potter,” she said sternly.

Harry ignored her admonition to stop talking, though he didn’t try to get up again. He needed to get these words out before the encroaching darkness took him away again.

“Professor McGonagall,” he said as loudly as his voice would allow. When McGonagall looked at him, he continued, “Malfoy rescued me. He saved my life.”

McGonagall lifted her brows and studied Draco. She didn’t seem to know quite what to do with the Slytherin.

“Don’t worry, Mr Potter,” she finally said. “I don’t plan to harm him.”

Draco breathed an inward sigh of relief, though he kept his features schooled in a blank mask.

Harry relaxed, and Madam Pomfrey finished her initial examination.

“He’s badly hurt,” she said to McGonagall. Harry heard her, dimly, but his thoughts were going sluggish. “His injuries are beyond my capabilities to heal. We’ll have to take him to St Mungo’s.”

McGonagall considered before shaking her head. “No, it isn’t safe for him there. We have to keep him here. Do you know any Healers personally who you feel are trustworthy?”

“Yes,” Pomfrey said. “We need to get him inside.”

“I can carry him,” Hagrid offered.

“Thank you, Hagrid, but he needs to be completely still and not jostled about.” She conjured a floating stretcher and levitated Harry onto it. Harry drifted in and out of awareness as the little group made their way slowly into Hogwarts and directly to the hospital wing. He preferred the dark peace unconsciousness brought him, where the pain was distant, but fought to keep awake. He wanted to know what was happening.

Pomfrey settled Harry on a bed as gently as she could, but even the soft sheets felt abrading and rough against his torn back. “I’m going to give you a potion for pain and a Sleeping Draught,” she told Harry.

“The Sleeping Draught’s not necessary,” Harry protested weakly. He craved sleep, craved the blissful nothingness, but there was such great curiosity within him he hesitated to give into it.

“It is,” Pomfrey insisted. She fetched the potions quickly and then gave them to Harry. When the Pain Potion coated his nerves with quiet numbness, Harry sighed and gave in. He could find out what was happening later. He didn’t think he could maintain enough awareness to understand what he might hear anyway. He swallowed the Sleeping Draught and let his eyes slide closed.

 

*****

 

Draco watched as Potter made no further objection and drank the purple sleeping potion as well as the potion for pain. Draco figured he was beyond exhausted and realised sleeping was a good thing. Draco was surprised he was even conscious.

Madam Pomfrey told McGonagall she was going to contact her friends from St Mungo’s and left the room, leaving Draco with the Deputy Headmistress and the half-giant.

McGonagall motioned for them all to sit down. Draco sat down stiffly on a wooden chair.

“Would you care to explain all this?” McGonagall asked, her wand still pointed at Draco.

“I’d prefer to speak with the Headmaster, please,” Draco said, as politely as he could. He concentrated on keeping his nerves under control; they didn’t need to know his skin felt stretched so tight his fingers wanted to curl inwards.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared. “I assure you, Mr Malfoy, anything you need to say to the Headmaster you can say to me.”

Draco shook his head and mentally crossed his fingers. “I need Professor Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore is currently unavailable,” she said briskly.

Draco cursed his luck. Unavailable. Well, she hadn’t confirmed the rumour either, so there might still be hope. When Dumbledore hadn’t shown up in response to his Patronus, he’d been afraid the rumour was actually true. “What about Professor Snape?”

“He is also unavailable.”

It figured. He’d suspected Snape wouldn’t be at Hogwarts, but he’d held out a little hope. It seemed he’d used up all his good luck getting Potter out of his prison.

“Then I will wait until one of them _is_ available,” he said calmly, despite the rapid beating of his heart.

McGonagall appeared quite surprised that Draco was refusing to speak with her.

“Mr Malfoy, Potter said you rescued him. If this is true, why won’t you just tell us what happened?”

Draco shook his head again. “I’ll only speak with Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape.”

“You are a Death Eater, are you not, Mr Malfoy?”

In response, Draco rolled up his sleeve and revealed his Dark Mark.

“Blimey!” Hagrid exclaimed. “We’d all heard—I’d hoped it weren’t true, though.”

McGonagall looked a little taken aback by Draco calmly admitting he was a Death Eater, even though he was dressed as one. “I’m afraid I can’t trust you unless you explain some things.”

Draco said nothing.

McGonagall sighed. “Very well. You may have a long wait for the Headmaster or Professor Snape, though.”

Although she looked like she didn’t really want to, she pointed her wand at Draco. _“Incarcerous.”_

Draco made no effort to stop her; he’d expected this. He was actually a little surprised he hadn’t been Stunned on sight. He supposed he owed Potter for that.

Turning to Hagrid, McGonagall said, “Please stay here and keep an eye on Mr Malfoy.” She glanced at Draco. “I need to contact some people.”

“Of course, Perfessor.” Hagrid regarded Draco suspiciously with his beady black eyes. “Don’t yeh worry, he won’t be goin’ nowhere.”

McGonagall nodded and left the infirmary.

 

*****

 

Draco sat silently while quite a bit of hustle and bustle went on around him. Healers arrived, and after being sworn to secrecy, pulled a curtain around Potter’s bed and began to work on him.

One by one, several people showed up in the infirmary, seemingly with the sole purpose of staring suspiciously at Draco. Draco knew or recognised a few of them: the werewolf Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley’s parents, the real Mad-Eye Moody. There was a strange witch with bright turquoise hair who looked vaguely familiar and a few others Draco didn’t know. Eventually all of the people McGonagall had apparently called arrived, and they huddled together under a privacy charm in the far corner of the hospital wing.

Draco was uncomfortable, sitting tied to a chair as he was, but there was nothing to be done for it. He kept telling himself he was lucky not to be dead. Or in Auror custody yet. He wished Dumbledore or Snape had showed up for the meeting. Draco watched as the discussion being held turned a bit heated. Moody was gesturing wildly, and Draco could only imagine what he was saying.

They finally came to a decision and walked over en masse to where Draco sat.

“Do you still refuse to speak with us, Mr Malfoy?” McGonagall asked.

“I’ll only speak with the Headmaster or Professor Snape,” Draco repeated.

“Very well. As you are a Death Eater, you cannot be trusted. However, we have decided not to turn you over to the Aurors—yet.”

Moody harrumphed; clearly he didn’t agree with the decision. Draco wanted to sag in relief. No Aurors…he still had a chance.

“You will be held here at Hogwarts for the time being,” McGonagall continued.

“You should feel right at home in the dungeons, Malfoy,” Moody sneered.

Draco gave him a bland look. It took a lot more than that to get under his thick skin these days.

McGonagall removed his bindings and told him to stand. Once he had, she again conjured ropes around the upper half of his body.

“Let’s go,” Moody growled, grabbing Draco roughly by the arm.

He was marched down the several flights of stairs to the dungeons. He was unceremoniously shoved inside one of the rooms not far from the Potions classroom. His bindings were removed before the door slammed shut, and Draco could hear it being locked and then wards being cast.

Draco listened with one ear to Moody’s final insults before McGonagall shushed the paranoid man, and Draco was left alone. At least, he thought he was alone. He quickly tuned in to the feeling of being watched.

Draco turned to see his former professor looking at him through the small, barred window in the door.

After several long moments of silence, Remus Lupin finally spoke.

“I’m not sure exactly what’s going on,” he said slowly, “but if you truly rescued Harry, I’m grateful. We all are.”

Draco just watched him for a moment before inclining his head in a small nod.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell us how you came to save Harry. You’ll certainly not be in trouble for doing so.”

“I’m a Death Eater,” Draco said flatly.

Lupin studied him curiously. “I wonder about that. I doubt there are many Death Eaters who would save Harry Potter from wherever he was being held.”

Draco shrugged a shoulder. That was definitely true.

“Quite the stubborn one, aren’t you?” Lupin smiled faintly. “I’ll leave you alone now. Someone should be along later with some food for you.”

Lupin stepped away from the door and disappeared from Draco’s view.

“He never said anything,” Draco abruptly blurted out.

Lupin’s face appeared in the window again.

“No matter what was done to him, Potter never said a word,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure why he’d said anything. He’d just felt compelled to do so, and strangely, it had felt right to do so.

Lupin waited to see if Draco would say more, but when he remained silent, smiled that little smile again. “Harry’s another stubborn one,” he said, and then walked away.

 

*****

 

Harry came awake slowly. The first thing he was aware of was pain. He hurt all over. The pain was dulled, but it was definitely still there. He head was bound in bands of pain rather than drilled with spikes, and his ear no longer throbbed in tune with his heart, but everything ached. He groggily opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, but he recognised the infirmary.

Fishing around on the bedside table, he searched for his glasses but found nothing. All at once, his memory came rushing back, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a bright, blood-chilling terror. He lifted himself up on his elbows, oblivious to the pain he caused himself. He quickly scanned the room and then looked it over again more carefully. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, but he needed to reassure himself that he really was in hospital at Hogwarts.

The terror receded slowly and the metallic tang of fear slid back down his throat as his brain accepted he was in a safe place and alone. Alone for the moment at least. Hearing someone approaching, he tensed and sat up fully, wincing. It hurt to move, but he felt too vulnerable lying down.

He relaxed a little when he saw Madam Pomfrey.

“Mr Potter! How good to see you awake at last,” she said, smiling. “But what on earth are you doing sitting up?”

When Harry made no move to lie down again, she came bustling over and raised the head of the bed so Harry could rest against it.

When Pomfrey turned back to him and lifted her wand, Harry flinched and shied away from her. She lowered her wand slowly.

“I mean you no harm, Harry,” she said quietly, soothingly. “I simply want to cast some spells to see how you are doing.”

Harry regarded her warily for a few moments. Then he made himself relax his tight muscles a little and nodded at her to go ahead. He tensed again as she cast the first spell but forced himself to stay still and let her do what she needed to do.

Harry was relieved when she finally finished.

“I am happy to say you are doing much better, Mr Potter,” Pomfrey said, smiling. “Much better indeed.

“I’m going to give you a potion to relieve the pain I know you must still feel.” She looked at him questioningly. Again Harry studied her silently for a moment before nodding slightly. Pomfrey decided to infuse the pain potion with a bit of Calming Draught; the poor boy was fairly vibrating with tension.

When she returned with the potion, she also brought along a tray. As she settled it in his lap, Harry saw that it held dry toast, some broth, and a pitcher of water. The scent of the broth made Harry’s nose twitch.

“We’ve been giving you nutrient potions, but you need to eat some real food to regain your strength and finish healing up properly. I want you to eat this slowly so as not to upset your stomach.”

She gave him the potion first and then handed him a glass of water. Harry nodded his thanks and gratefully drank the cool liquid. It felt wonderful going down his throat. As he swallowed, he had a vague flash of Malfoy giving him water.

Nothing in his life had ever tasted better than that broth. Harry sipped at it slowly, alternating spoonfuls with bites of toast. He wasn’t able to eat all of it, even though he knew he hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

“That’s good for now,” Madam Pomfrey said approvingly. “Your usual appetite will come back bit by bit.”

She removed the tray and set it aside. Looking him over carefully, she was pleased to see a bit of colour in his cheeks.

“Do you feel up to talking to Professor McGonagall? You need your rest, but she wanted to know the moment you woke up. If you don’t feel up to talking, however, I’ll put her off.”

Harry shook his head. “She can come,” he said, his voice a bit raspy as he spoke for the first time.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. She poured him another glass of water and urged him to drink it. As he took the glass, Harry realised something. “Only Professor McGonagall? What about Professor Dumbledore?”

An expression Harry could only interpret as sadness mixed with a touch of fear crossed Madam Pomfrey’s face so quickly Harry almost thought he imagined it; he certainly didn’t understand it.

“Professor Dumbledore isn’t available right now,” she said, her voice a bit brisker than necessary. “Professor McGonagall can explain for you.”

Pomfrey abruptly excused herself to call McGonagall. Harry mentally shrugged and took a sip of water; his mind felt sluggish, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to even attempt to figure out her suddenly strange behaviour or puzzle out where Dumbledore might be. He’d barely finished his water when McGonagall entered the infirmary.

“You can have a few minutes, Minerva, but then he needs to rest,” Madam Pomfrey cautioned before leaving them alone.

“I am quite relieved to see you looking so much better, Mr Potter,” McGonagall said. When she conjured a chair for herself, Harry flinched again; he couldn’t help himself.

McGonagall looked surprised and then a sad expression crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Embarrassed, Harry waved it away.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked in an effort to steer the conversation away.

McGonagall appeared to understand he was deliberately changing the subject and let him. “A little over six days.”

Harry was stunned. _“Six days?”_

“Yes. You were rather grievously injured. Madam Pomfrey told us you were…” She trailed off, and Harry could see how upset she was, though the stoic Scotswoman was trying hard not to show it.

“Almost dead?” Harry finished for her, his tone completely matter-of-fact. He’d known for some time he was close to dying. He was still trying to grasp the fact that he _wasn’t_ dead.

“Yes.” McGonagall cleared her throat. “The Healers put you into a Healing Sleep after treating your...wounds.”

Harry reached up and touched his ear. It was bandaged, but he could tell the tip was still gone.

“There was nothing to be done for that, I’m afraid,” McGonagall said softly.

Harry nodded in understanding. He wanted to lift his pyjama top to see what his chest looked like but didn’t think it would be proper.

“They were able to heal most everything else,” McGonagall said, seeming to read his mind.

Harry let out a deep breath and nodded again. He hoped he didn’t have too many more scars.

“Mr Potter—Harry—do you feel up to telling me what happened?” she asked quietly.

Harry studied his hands in his lap. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she said. “We know nothing.”

Surprised, Harry looked up at her. “Didn’t Malfoy tell you?”

McGonagall pursed her lips in disapproval. “He refuses to say anything. He says he will only speak with the Headmaster or Professor Snape.”

Confused, Harry asked, “Then why hasn’t he?”

“Professor Snape is not here. We haven’t seen him in over two weeks. Not since the attack in Diagon Alley, actually. He told us before the attack happened that he was being sent on a mission and wasn’t sure how long it would be before he would be able to contact us again.”

“What about Professor Dumbledore?”

“Professor Dumbledore is in a coma,” McGonagall said heavily. “He was struck by a spell during the attack where you were captured. The Healers can’t make heads or tails of it, and they can’t wake him up. They’ve got their best people researching it but…”

Harry stared at her, stunned. Dumbledore in a coma? Injured by an unknown, probably Dark spell? Harry closed his eyes as his body sagged against the bed. What if Dumbledore never recovered?

Opening his eyes, he looked at the slightly blurry woman sitting next to him. He blinked a few times to try to bring her into better focus. She was sitting close enough that he could see her fairly well—it was just annoying that his vision wasn’t completely clear.

McGonagall smiled at him sympathetically. “I’ll see about getting you some new glasses.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“Since Malfoy is completely unforthcoming, we must rely on you to tell us what happened.” McGonagall brought the conversation back on topic.

Harry sighed. He _really_ didn’t want to talk about what he’d been through. His mind flinched away from even thinking about it.

Seeing his hesitation, McGonagall looked at him sympathetically. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t so important.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly, shifting his eyes back down to the comforting blankness of the white sheet covering his lap; it was easier to look at than the pity he saw in McGonagall’s eyes. “It’s just…difficult to think about it.” Harry almost wanted to laugh—‘difficult’ was such a ridiculous understatement.

“Is there someone you’d be more comfortable telling?” she asked kindly.

Harry considered this. He knew McGonagall needed to know—he knew the Order needed to know. He didn’t fancy telling the story once, much less more than once. Then he thought of someone who could be a comforting presence.

“I think…” he said slowly, “I think I’d like Remus Lupin here. I could tell you both at the same time and then perhaps…”

“Perhaps we could take care of telling anyone else whatever essential information they need to know?”

Harry nodded, grateful she understood.

“As it happens, Lupin is here now in my office. I’ll ask him to come.” She walked off, presumably to fire-call Remus.

Harry leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes. He was feeling a little better. The pain-relieving potion was working; he also felt a little more relaxed, a little less anxious. He tried to gather his thoughts, put them in some semblance of order in preparation for telling what had happened to him. It was all a bit mixed up in his head. He didn’t even know how long he’d been held captive. There was one thing he remembered clearly though—being Apparated away by Draco Malfoy and brought to Hogwarts.

It was only a few minutes before Remus arrived and joined McGonagall. Perhaps she’d said something to Remus, as he didn’t conjure a chair but pulled one over from the other side of the room.

“How are you, Harry?” he asked, his warm green eyes radiating concern.

“I’ve been better,” Harry said, trying to smile a little. “Though compared to how I felt I few days ago, I’m feeling great.”

Remus regarded him sadly. “I’m sorry for whatever you’ve gone through, Harry.”

Harry shrugged and then winced. His shoulder was quite sore. “I’d say it wasn’t so bad, except it really was.” He looked to McGonagall and then back to Remus. “I didn’t tell them anything. I swear.”

Remus exchanged a look with Minerva.

“That’s what Draco Malfoy told us,” he told Harry.

“It’s the only thing he told us,” McGonagall added.

Harry looked a little surprised by this. “Really?”

“Yes. I was down in the dungeons trying to—“

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted. “The dungeons?”

“It is where we’re holding Malfoy,” McGonagall explained.

“Why?” Harry asked blankly.

“He’s a Death Eater, Potter.”

“I know that. But he saved me.”

“So you said, but you must understand that your one statement is _all_ we know. Until we know more, he cannot be trusted.”

Harry started to protest but held his tongue. He understood their point. He wasn’t entirely sure _he_ trusted Malfoy. He _was_ a Death Eater after all. He’d even taken part in hurting him, although what’d he’d done had been nowhere near as bad as what the others had done. Harry realised he probably trusted Malfoy more than anyone else, though—the man had rescued him, after all.

“He did save me,” Harry said softly. “I don’t know how, but he somehow managed to Apparate us here to Hogwarts. I was being held, shackled to a wall, in the cellar of Bellatrix Lestrange’s house. A fact she enjoyed taunting me with,” he added bitterly. The image of Bellatrix’s deranged face surrounded by a wild tangle of black hair swam into his mind and he forcibly swallowed down the fear and revulsion.

“Surely the house was warded against Apparition,” Remus said, looking surprised.

“It was,” Harry agreed. “That’s why I don’t understand how he did it.”

He turned to McGonagall. “How long was I there?”

“Nine days,” she replied.

Harry grimaced. “It felt like months. Years.”

“I’m sure it did,” Remus said quietly. “Can you tell us what they did to you, Harry?”

“They tortured me,” Harry said bluntly. He figured he might as well get it all out as quickly as possible and get it over with. He ruthlessly shoved his tangled emotions aside and forced himself to say the words that would bring everything back to life. “A lot. Voldemort had them beat me a few times. Mostly they used magic against me.

“Voldemort still favours the Cruciatus Curse. He liked to use it on me and then ask me questions about the prophecy. Sometimes he’d ask me about the Order, what our plans were. He asked me about Dum—sorry, Professor Dumbledore a few times. But mostly he wanted to know the prophecy.”

“How did you keep from giving it to him?” Remus asked, appalled. He’d been told Harry had been tortured but…

“Occlumency,” Harry said. “It saved my life, I reckon. If Professor Dumbledore hadn’t taught it to me last year, I’d probably be dead right now. I really think the only reason Voldemort kept me alive is that he wanted to know the prophecy so badly. I told him once that if he killed me, he’d never know it, trying to make him believe it would be bad for him if he never found out what it was. I think that kept him from killing me as well.”

“But the torture…how did you withstand it?”

Harry shrugged and then cursed himself for doing it. He was going to have to break that little habit. “I didn’t have much of a choice. I had to withstand it. I knew if I gave in, if I told them what they wanted to know, they’d kill me.”

His gaze grew unfocussed as he stared at a point in the distance. He said softly, speaking more to himself than his audience, “There were times I almost did tell them. There were times I…there were many times that I actually wished they would kill me. Just to get it over with. I didn’t hold out any hope that I’d ever be rescued.”

“We never stopped looking for you,” McGonagall assured him.

Harry brought his attention back to his visitors and smiled a little. He wasn’t aware of the embittered look that came into his eyes to match that smile. “But you would have never found me. I knew that. Just as I knew giving Voldemort the prophecy wasn’t an option.”

He shifted in bed to get a little more comfortable. He was rather stiff from the abuse he’d suffered. And despite his best efforts to distance himself emotionally, he was also finding it very difficult to talk about all this. His stomach was tied up in knots and he kept having to fight down nauseating bursts of fear.

“I want you to know, Harry, that even if you had told them the prophecy or anything at all, no one would have blamed you,” Remus said. “There aren’t many people who can undergo torture the way you did and not break.”

Harry nodded. He knew that, he really did. But he also knew that he’d done the right thing by holding his tongue. The only thing he could have done to survive and protect the secrets he knew.

Gathering himself, he went on with his story. “Voldemort favoured _Crucio_ but the other Death Eaters liked to use a wide variety of things. They used a lot of cutting curses. They used a lot of other spells, too—spells I’ve never heard of. Certainly all of them were Dark magic. They whipped me a few times, too.”

He barrelled on, averting his eyes in an attempt to ignore the horrified expressions both McGonagall and Remus were trying and failing to hide. If he let himself think of the horror, he’d never be able to finish telling them.

“An actual knife was used to cut off the top of my ear, though, not magic. Bellatrix did that. She really, really enjoyed doing it, too. She laughed the entire time. I owe her for that,” he added, the sharp sting of hatred colouring his tone.

He paused. Remembering what it had felt like when Bellatrix had taken that knife to his ear was…there were no words. His breath came faster and stomach roiled as the sound of crunching cartilage ricocheted out of his memories into the forefront of his mind. His gorge rose but he swallowed it back and forced himself to continue. “They used spells to keep me awake for most of it. I know I passed out any number of times, but they’d usually wake me up. Unless they were done for the moment. They also gave me some potions. I’m not sure, but I think the potions helped keep me alive. They didn’t feed me, only gave me a little water from time to time.”

He looked at McGonagall. “Malfoy gave me water. When it was his turn to guard me, he always gave me water. He gave me water when he brought me here, too.”

“Then I’m grateful to him,” she said, her voice steady and even. But she looked a little pale.

“I was, too,” Harry admitted. “He never said anything to me when he did. The others who guarded me, they enjoyed taunting and insulting me. Throwing a few nasty spells at me. But Malfoy never did any of that. He would just stand there and watch me.”

He deliberately said nothing about the few times Malfoy had cast _Crucio_ on him. It somehow didn’t seem right. Malfoy had always seemed to hesitate for the tiniest fraction of a second before doing as he’d been ordered. He’d never done it voluntarily, not even once. And if it was possible for one Cruciatus Curse to hurt less than another, Malfoy’s weren’t as bad.

McGonagall and Remus exchanged a look. Harry’s comments had just given a little more support to the idea that Draco Malfoy wasn’t as dedicated a Death Eater as his father.

“I’d like to talk to him,” Harry said abruptly.

“Do you think he would actually tell you anything?” Remus asked, clearly curious.

Harry almost shrugged again but managed to stop himself. “I don’t know. But I want to try anyway. I at least want to thank him for saving my life.”

After glancing at Remus again, McGonagall nodded. “I’ll arrange to have him brought here. Is there anything else we need to know right now?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least not that I can remember at the moment. A lot of it sort of blurs together in my head.”

McGonagall and Remus stood up. “Thank you, Harry, for telling us all of that,” McGonagall said. “I know it was difficult.”

Remus rested a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you get some more rest now. You can talk to Malfoy the next time you wake up.”

Harry nodded in agreement. He was rather tired out from all the talking. His emotions were a bit of a mess as well. He’d like to be alone.

McGonagall went to fetch Madam Pomfrey who lowered Harry’s bed so he could sleep more comfortably. Harry watched McGonagall and Remus leave the ward. Thoughts circled in his head—thoughts he had no wish to ponder. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the demands of his body and escaped into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

When Harry awoke later, the first thing he realised was that he felt a little better. He wouldn’t mind another pain potion, but he did feel a little less achy. He was also hungry.

Pomfrey obviously had some kind of monitoring spell on him because she came over to him right away.

“How are you feeling, Mr Potter?” she asked.

“You can just call me Harry, you know,” he said. “And I’m feeling a little better, I think. I know I’m hungry.”

“Good. I’ll get you something to eat after I perform a few spells on you,” she said, lifting her wand slowly. “Is that all right?”

Harry nodded, appreciating the fact that she’d asked first. When the exam was done to her satisfaction, she left to get Harry some food and a pain potion.

When she returned with chicken soup and a hunk of bread, she also brought him a letter. “From Miss Granger,” she said. “I imagine she and Mr Weasley are quite glad to know you’re awake.”

She gave him some privacy, and Harry opened the letter to read while he ate. Holding the letter close to his face, he smiled upon seeing Hermione’s familiar handwriting.

_Dear Harry,_

_We are so relieved and happy to know you are going to be all right! We’ve been terribly worried about you. We know you’re resting and not up to full strength yet, but we’re dying to come see you. You will let us know when you feel up to it, won’t you?_

_We—Ron and I—are staying at the Weasleys’ right now. It’s just so awful that they’ve had to close Hogwarts. I can hardly believe it. I know it’s not important right now, what with the war going on, but I really do hope we’re able to finish our final year one day. It was rather strange not to return after the holidays, but we’ve been keeping busy. I’ve been helping some of the Order with research, and Ron’s involved in the strategy meetings. I’m glad we’re all finally full members of the Order. I don’t think I could stand it if we were told we couldn’t help because we were underage._

Harry stopped reading, surprised to learn Hogwarts was closed. It had never occurred to him that the castle was empty. Obviously it had never reopened after the Christmas holidays. He wondered why it had been closed. Had something happened? Had something else happened, he corrected himself. He knew quite well that one attack had occurred just a few days after Christmas in Diagon Alley—the one where he’d been captured and Dumbledore had been badly hurt. Perhaps the fact Dumbledore was hurt was one of the reasons the school had been closed. He wondered what else had been going on while he’d been…away. He’d have to ask.

Returning to the letter and his meal, he read the next part of Hermione’s message.

_The twins have been busy making various products to help with the war effort. It seems they are actually rather good at inventing things that aren’t joke-related. Ron’s been helping out with that as well. We’ve also all been doing some training with Professor Lupin—a more intensive version of Defence Against the Dark Arts, I guess you could say._

_There’s more to tell you, but I’d rather talk to you in person. I hope to see you soon._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

The writing changed here from Hermione’s neat script to Ron’s untidy scrawl.

_Hello mate,_

_Glad to hear you’re doing so much better. You’ve had us all in a right state, you have, especially Mum and Hermione. I’m sorry we weren’t able to find you. We looked and looked, sent out people everywhere we could think of. I know you were held captive, but what I don’t know is how you managed to escape. Knowing you, I’m sure it’s quite a story._

_We’ll be round to see you as soon as you say the word._

_Ron_

Harry smiled. He could hear Ron’s voice in his head while reading his note. He’d love to see his friends. He’d never thought he’d see them again. He’d given up all hope of ever seeing their friendly faces again, hearing their voices.

He re-read the letter as he finished eating. He was curious to know what this “more to tell you” was that Hermione mentioned.

He saw Madam Pomfrey coming over.

“My friends want to come visit me. Can they? I’d really like to see them.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” she replied. “I’d like you a little bit stronger before you have any more visitors.”

“But I really need to talk to Malfoy today,” Harry protested.

“He can wait until tomorrow too,” she said.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said quietly. “It’s very important to me that I see Malfoy as soon as possible. I don’t need to see him for long—I just want to thank him for saving my life. And maybe ask him why he did it.”

The matron considered for a few moments before giving in. “Very well. But just for a short time.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely.

Pomfrey said she’d tell McGonagall that Harry wanted to see Malfoy. While she was gone, Harry took a few minutes to escape into the bathroom and examine himself. Fortunately his bed was quite near the toilet, as he was rather wobbly on his feet. He kept close to the wall, and had to brace his hand on it several times, but he managed to make it there and close the door behind him without falling over or collapsing. He lifted his pyjama top and studied his body, front and back. There were a few scars on his back, but thankfully they were a faded pinkish-white and weren’t raised and red and obvious like he’d feared. His chest looked pretty good. He might have some light scars, but he didn’t think they’d be terrible or even very noticeable unless someone was looking for them. His legs and arms didn’t look too bad either. Harry was rather relieved—and grateful for the magic that had healed him so well.

It was some time after Harry pulled himself back along the wall to his bed, but eventually Professor McGonagall arrived with Malfoy. She also carried a wand and a pair of glasses.

“Here are some new glasses for you,” she said, handing them to Harry.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, immediately sliding them on. It was wonderful to have the room come into focus. He had to blink a few times; his eyes had to adjust to being able to see properly after having gone without his glasses for so long.

“And your wand,” she added, presenting it to him.

Harry stared at it blankly, almost afraid to believe it was really his wand. “But how…? I lost it during the attack.”

“It was found and returned to Ronald Weasley, who gave it to me for safekeeping.”

Harry reached out to take the wand. When he grasped it in his hand, he felt a warm surge of power rush up his arm. It was amazing to hold his wand again. It felt like home.

“I’ll let you have a few minutes with Mr Malfoy now,” McGonagall said, stepping aside and motioning Draco forward.

“May we speak privately?” Harry asked.

McGonagall hesitated before nodding. “I’ll be just over here. It would be in your best interest not to try anything, Malfoy.”

After she walked away, Malfoy just stood there, watching Harry.

“Have a seat,” Harry invited, feeling awkward.

Draco came forward a bit warily but sat down. Harry used his wand to cast the strongest privacy charm he knew. Using his wand again…using magic again…he couldn’t describe how wonderful it felt. How…cleansing.

The smile that had crossed Harry’s face when he’d cast the spell faded as he turned back to Malfoy. For a long moment the two young men just looked at one another. Harry finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he said, looking straight into Draco’s eyes. “Thank you for everything you did for me. Thank you for saving my life. It’s a debt I can never repay.”

Draco studied Harry’s face quietly for a moment. “You owe me no debt,” he finally said.

“But I do,” Harry insisted. “I’d either still be rotting away in that cellar or dead if you hadn’t done what you did.”

He hesitated briefly before asking the question foremost on his mind: “Why did you save me, Malfoy?”

Again, Malfoy regarded him silently for several long moments before he spoke. “There are reasons, Potter, but none I can tell you right now.”

“Why not?”

“There are reasons for that, too,” he replied.

Harry felt both frustrated and disappointed that Malfoy wasn’t saying anything. He’d thought surely Malfoy would tell _him_ why he’d rescued him.

“Don’t you think I have the right to know?” he asked.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose you do. And I’m sure you’ll find out eventually. I’m just not able to tell you right now.”

Harry fought against the urge to yell at Malfoy and demand he tell him. He knew the only thing it would accomplish, though, was getting Malfoy kicked out and probably pissing him off.

He changed tactics and asked the other question he was dying to know. “How did you get us out of there?”

“That I will tell you,” Draco said, smiling faintly. “Your friends have already taken it from me, though they don’t know what it is.”

“What what is?”

“I used something I call an Apparition Hoop,” Draco explained. “It creates a sort of hole through Anti-Disapparition wards. You have to be very careful and very precise to stay within that hole when you Apparate, but it can be done. Obviously,” he added, with a bit of a smirk.

“I’ve never heard of an Apparition Hoop,” Harry said. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.”

Harry’s brows lifted. “You _made_ it? Where did you learn how to make such a thing?”

Draco smirked again. “Perhaps I should have said I _invented_ it.”

Harry stared at Draco, stunned. Malfoy had invented something that could break through Disapparition wards? He hadn’t even thought it was possible.

“Well,” he said at last. “To say I’m impressed would be an understatement.”

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“Will you tell me more about it? How you invented it, I mean?”

“It took me a long time to perfect it,” Draco admitted. He wasn’t sure why he was willing to talk to Potter about his invention—maybe it was because he’d never been able to talk to anyone about it before, and Potter seemed to be an appreciative audience. “I’ve been working on it off and on for about a year. Your…situation…gave me additional motivation to get it working properly.”

“Me? You got it to work to save me?” Harry asked, incredulous.

Draco scowled. “Don’t go thinking it was all about you, Potter. I would have made it work eventually anyway. Let’s just say you helped tip the scales in favour of getting it done sooner as opposed to later.”

“I’m glad you got it done sooner rather than later,” Harry told him fervently. He tried smiling a little.

Draco lifted a brow. “I’m sure you are.”

“Can I tell the others about it? Or do you want me to keep it secret?”

Draco looked surprised. “You’d keep it a secret from them?”

“I would,” Harry said, nodding. “If you asked me to. I’d like to tell them. I’d like to give you the credit you deserve for getting me out of there. But if you don’t want me to tell them, I won’t.”

Draco tilted his head and considered Potter thoughtfully. It had never occurred to him Potter wouldn’t tell his little group about his invention. He’d told Potter about it for a couple of reasons: one, he hoped to gain a little favour with the people holding him prisoner and two, he hoped that Potter’s friends wouldn’t destroy it, thinking it was some kind of Dark object. He’d put a lot of time and effort into making it and didn’t particularly want to see it destroyed.

“You can tell them,” he said at last.

“Good,” Harry said. “You know, you could make a lot of money selling that thing,” he added offhandedly. “Not that you aren’t already rich.”

All expression left Draco’s face. He stood up and motioned to McGonagall. “I think it’s time for me to be heading back to my dungeon.”

“Hey, Malfoy, what did I say?”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Harry. “Nothing, Potter. I’m simply tired of talking.”

Harry tried to apologise for whatever he’d said to piss him off, but Malfoy didn’t look back at him again. McGonagall gave them a strange look before escorting Malfoy out of the infirmary.

Harry flopped back against his pillow. Well, he’d certainly stuck his foot in it, hadn’t he? Malfoy hadn’t exactly been chatty, but they’d been having a decent enough conversation before he’d made that comment about Malfoy being rich. Had something happened to Malfoy’s money? He couldn’t begin to imagine how the Malfoys could have lost all of the money they were reputed to have.

It struck him just then that he’d just had an actual _conversation_ with _Malfoy_. They’d never exchanged more than a few short, insulting sentences at a time before in Harry’s recollection. But Malfoy had just sat there and spoken to him like a normal person would—no barbs, no derogatory comments, no sneers. It was…odd. A little disconcerting in a way. It was almost as though he was speaking to an entirely different Malfoy. A much pleasanter one, to be sure, but a very different one.

Harry sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but he was a little upset with himself for having pissed Malfoy off. He supposed he felt guilty for doing something to offend the man who’d saved his life. It was a very strange sensation, but he felt of a bit of a bond with Malfoy, something he’d never dreamed he’d ever feel. But Malfoy was the only one who really knew what Harry’d gone through. And for whatever reason, he’d done a little to…what? Make being held captive and tortured a little more bearable?

Harry sighed again. He was getting nowhere with this train of thought. He’d never in a million years understand Malfoy, even if the man ever did tell them why he’d rescued Harry.

 

*****

 

Harry was deemed well enough the next day to have visitors. He was thrilled when Ron and Hermione came walking through the infirmary doors.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, practically running over to him. She started to hug him, but Harry held up a hand.

“Gently, please, I’m still a bit sore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think,” she said, snatching her hands back.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want the hug,” Harry reminded her. “Just to be gentle about it.”

Hermione smiled and wrapped her arms carefully around her friend. “I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad you’re all right,” she whispered into his hair.

She pulled away, and Harry saw she had tears in her eyes. He smiled at her and Ron. “I’m glad to see you, too. You can’t possibly know how glad I am to see you.”

“You certainly are a sight for sore eyes, mate,” Ron commented, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand as Hermione wiped at her eyes. “Welcome back.”

“How are you doing, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Madam Pomfrey says I’m doing well enough. I feel a bit better since I woke up here yesterday—and a hell of a lot better than I did when I arrived here.”

Hermione looked pained. “Oh, Harry, I know it had to have been just awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

Harry shrugged a shoulder, noting that it didn’t hurt any more when he did. That was good. “It was pretty damn awful,” he admitted.

“Can…can you…I mean…” Hermione trailed off. “I realise you may not want to talk about it, but will you tell us what happened?”

Harry was a bit surprised. “You mean McGonagall or Remus hasn’t already told the Order?”

Ron shook his head. “There’s a meeting tonight. Perhaps they plan to do it then.”

Harry sighed. He’d known they’d want to discuss it, but he’d hoped they’d at least already been told the basics. It looked as though he’d be telling the story again after all. But he wasn’t going into any detail with his two friends—not only would he rather not think about it, but they didn’t need all the shit he’d been subjected to in their heads.

“Well, as you know, I was captured,” Harry started. “To be honest, I don’t remember that part very well. I remember being disarmed and then…it all gets sort of fuzzy.” He looked at them questioningly.

“We don’t know what you were hit with,” Ron said. “But I saw you get hit and knocked to the ground. I’m not sure if you’d already been disarmed, but it looked like they Stunned you next. Before anyone could get to you, they’d Disapparated with you.”

Harry nodded. While it was good to know what had actually happened, hearing what Ron said didn’t spark any new memories of the event. All he remembered was being hit in the back with _Expelliarmus_ and having his wand go flying. He hadn’t fallen then, though. Apparently he’d been hit by some other spell immediately after that.

“We didn’t know what had happened to you, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. “It was so horrible, not knowing if you were alive or…”

Ron put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “He’s here now, Hermione.”

“I know, and I’m so thankful,” Hermione said, sniffling a bit. She gave Harry a watery smile. “We never gave up hope.”

Harry was tempted to tell them he had but held his tongue. They didn’t need to know that.

“Thanks,” he simply said instead.

“What happened after you were captured?” Ron asked.

Harry sighed. “Obviously, they didn’t kill me. Voldemort wanted me alive, at least until he could get the information he wanted out of me.”

“You saw V-V-Voldemort right away then?” Hermione stuttered a bit, but Harry was proud of her for saying the name.

“Yes, I was pretty much taken directly to the bastard,” Harry said bitterly. “He was much happier to see me than I was to see him.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, he took some time to gloat and some time to insult me and Dumbledore and my parents and everyone else he could think of. He brought up the graveyard, when he used my blood to create a new body for himself. He had the bollocks to thank me for it.” Harry smiled a little, coldly. “I spat at him for that.”

“You didn’t!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Sure I did. I was pissed off as hell.”

“You weren’t _scared_ as hell?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Of course I was scared. But I didn’t want him to know that. And I _was_ pissed off. I was pissed off at myself for getting captured, and I was pissed off at him for everything he was saying. I really didn’t have the luxury of being scared, not if I wanted to think of some way out of there.

“He didn’t like me spitting at him. He tried to laugh it off like it didn’t matter, but I could tell that it did. I was glad. He went off on another rant about how he held the power now, and I was nothing. There was nothing anyone could do to stop him from doing whatever he pleased, not even Dumbledore, blah, blah, blah. But it was rather obvious he wasn’t as sure of himself as he liked to pretend he was.”

“Why was that?” Ron asked.

“He asked me about the prophecy. Demanded I tell him what it was. I told him I didn’t know it. That was the first time he cursed me—used _Crucio_ on me. Hurt like a bitch.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, clearly upset. Ron winced.

“He didn’t keep me under it for too long. At least, I don’t think he did. Sort of hard to keep track of time when you’re screaming in agony.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “And I did scream.”

Ron was gaping at him. “Of course you screamed. It’s _torture_.”

Harry no longer called undergoing the Cruciatus Curse just once as torture. He’d been through much worse than that.

“After that, he demanded to know the prophecy again,” Harry continued. “I didn’t tell him. I never told him anything, though I did try to make him believe he needed to know it if he wanted to win the war. He used the Cruciatus on me a few times in between ordering me to tell him everything I knew before I finally passed out.”

Harry looked at his two best friends with eyes that were strangely empty; they were so remote and bleak that they didn’t look like Harry’s eyes at all. Hermione thought it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger—a stranger you weren’t particularly sure you wanted to get to know. It made her want to shiver and reach out to him at the same time.

Harry sat silently for a long moment, his eyes tracking between Hermione and Ron, cataloguing their expressions. They were so open, so concerned. So…innocent. For all they’d seen and for all they knew, they were still pure—they hadn’t been tainted yet, and he couldn’t be the one to pull the curtains back on their blissful ignorance. He couldn’t tell them the details of the entire story; he just couldn’t. So he’d keep it simple.

When he finally spoke, it was in a voice as hollow as his eyes: “It just got worse after that.”

“What did they do to you that was worse than having _Crucio_ cast on you multiple times?” Ron asked, horrified.

Harry’s eyes grew distant as he mentally withdrew a little, wishing he could hide from his own memories. “Oh, there’s lots of ways to torture someone. I now know that quite well,” he said quietly, but his voice was grim. “You don’t need to know the details of it, but I was tortured. Repeatedly.”

Ron was so pale his freckles stood out in stark relief on his face. Hermione looked like she was going to be sick.

“Was it…was it always V-Voldemort who…” Hermione finally asked, though she couldn’t even finish her question.

“Tortured me? No, it was usually the Death Eaters. I only actually saw Voldemort a few times. He liked using _Crucio_ on me, but he also just liked watching the other Death Eaters have a go at me. The rest of the time I was chained up in the cellar of Bellatrix Lestrange’s house.”

“Bellatrix?” Hermione gasped. “Oh, she’s evil.”

“Yes, she is,” Harry agreed whole-heartedly. He hesitated, but then he went ahead and decided to tell them. This was one detail he couldn’t keep from them—they’d see it at some point. He lifted his hair to show them his now un-bandaged ear. “She did this to me.”

Ron choked a little, and Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. She abruptly jumped up and ran from the room.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. “That’s exactly why I’m not telling you all the details.”

Ron was still staring at Harry’s ear. “She cut the tip of your ear off.”

Harry let his hair drop back into place. “Go see to Hermione,” he said gruffly.

Ron gave him a quick look, as if to assess whether or not it was all right to leave Harry alone. Then he nodded and moved off in the direction of the loo, which is where Hermione had headed.

Harry dropped the back of his head against the bed. That really hadn’t gone so well. If he could have avoided telling them that part altogether, he would have, but it wasn’t like they’d never see his ear. He really wished he could avoid telling them anything at all. Their reactions were just further proof he was right in keeping quiet on the specifics of what he’d endured.

After a while, they returned, Ron with his arm around Hermione, who’d obviously been crying.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said as they sat back down. It hurt him to see her looking so distraught.

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Hermione looked at him in disbelief. “I’m the one who’s sorry. So terribly, terribly sorry for what you’ve gone through.”

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Can you tell us the rest?” Ron asked quietly.

“I don’t think I should. You know enough. Too much.”

Hermione looked torn between arguing to hear the rest of the story and relief she didn’t have to hear any more.

“At least tell us how you escaped,” she finally said.

“Yeah, let’s skip to the happy ending,” Ron said, smiling a little.

Harry smiled back at him, grateful for the touch of levity.

“Well, I definitely consider it a happy ending, but I didn’t escape. I was rescued.”

“Rescued?” Ron repeated, taken aback. “We just assumed you’d escaped. Who rescued you?”

This was one detail Harry was actually looking forward to sharing, just to see the reaction he’d get.

“Draco Malfoy.” Harry let his little bombshell drop and waited to see their expressions.

Both of his friends gaped at him, completely agog at the news.

 _“Malfoy?”_ Ron finally sputtered. “You were rescued by _Malfoy?!_ ”

“Yeah. It was quite a surprise to me, too, let me tell you.”

“But isn’t he a Death Eater?” Hermione asked, confused. “Why would he help you?”

“Yes, he is a Death Eater, and I haven’t the foggiest idea why he saved me,” Harry replied. “I asked him, and he wouldn’t tell me. Said he couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

“Couldn’t,” Harry confirmed. “He Apparated us out of the cellar of the Lestrange house and brought me here to Hogwarts.”

“Apparated you out? Weren’t there—” Hermione started to say.

“Anti-Disapparition wards? Yes, there were.”

“Then how…?”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “You aren’t going to believe this, but he invented something that can take you through Anti-Disapparition wards. He called it an Apparition Hoop. He said it creates a hole in the wards that allows someone to Disapparate. He Disapparated us both out of there.”

Ron and Hermione were simply staring at him again.

“I don’t believe it,” Ron said. “It’s impossible to get through an Anti-Disapparition Jinx.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it either except that I’m here and have a vague memory of it actually happening.”

“There’s no way he invented it himself,” Ron insisted. “He must have had help.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe he did. I don’t know. He told me he’d been working on it for a year. You won’t believe this either, but he said getting me out of there was the reason he hurried up and finished it.”

“You’re right,” Hermione agreed. “That is rather hard to believe after everything he’s ever done to you. And especially since he’s a Death Eater now.”

“I don’t think he’s a very dedicated one,” Harry said slowly.

“Why is that?” Hermione asked. “I mean, is there another reason you think that other than him helping you escape?”

“That’s the biggest reason,” Harry admitted. Then he told them about how Malfoy was the only one to always give him water and how he’d never taunted him. He again kept quiet about the times Malfoy actually did torture him. He also explained how Malfoy was being held prisoner in the dungeons of Hogwarts for the time being.

“Maybe he felt sorry for you?” Hermione ventured. “You were a fellow student after all.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, but he privately thought there was much more to it.

“I’ll probably never know why he was…better to me than any of the other Death Eaters. He won’t even tell me why he saved me.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ron objected. “It isn’t like Malfoy not to be taking credit for something.”

“I know,” Harry said in agreement. “But he won’t. He told McGonagall he’ll only talk to Dumbledore or Snape.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

“You do know about Dumbledore, right?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said sadly. “McGonagall told me he’s been badly hurt and is in a coma.”

“She didn’t tell you how it happened?” Ron asked, obviously flabbergasted.

“No,” Harry said, sitting up straighter. “How did it happen?”

“It was Snape!” Ron burst out. “Snape hit him with a spell no one’s ever seen or heard of before.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be stunned. “Holy shit! _Snape?_ But he’s…he’s on our side.”

“Not any more,” Ron said grimly. “At least, I don’t think he is.”

“What does that mean?”

“He means none of us know what to think,” Hermione explained. “Professors Lupin and McGonagall think he’s still on our side, but most of the others think he’s betrayed us.”

“If he ever really supported us in the first place,” Ron snorted. “I never trusted the greasy git.”

Harry was so taken aback by the news, he wasn’t sure what to think. He’d argued with Dumbledore many times in regard to Snape’s loyalty, but the old man had never wavered in his belief that Snape was on their side, not Voldemort’s. Harry trusted Dumbledore and had grudgingly placed a little faith in Snape, though he’d never been able to bring himself to trust him fully. The man was a complete arsehole.

“Why do McGonagall and Remus think he’s still loyal to us?” he finally asked.

“They think it doesn’t make sense that Snape would have just injured Professor Dumbledore when he could have easily killed him,” Hermione explained. “They think Snape must have felt trapped into doing something against Dumbledore with all the other Death Eaters there and watching him.”

“Why didn’t he just Stun him then?” Ron countered.

Hermione looked at him in exasperation, and Harry had the feeling they’d already had this argument. “Honestly, Ron, you’re supposed to be a strategist. It would have been rather obvious if Snape only used the Stunning spell. The Death Eaters would have reported back to Voldemort that Snape had to opportunity to harm Dumbledore but didn’t take it.”

“How did Snape explain not _killing_ Dumbledore then?”

“I don’t know!” Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. “We’ve been told that Professor Dumbledore looks…well, looks dead, although he’s not. Maybe he told Voldemort he’d killed him, and Voldemort doesn’t know he’s still alive. I don’t know.”

“What do you think, Harry?” Ron demanded. “You think that slimy bastard is against us, don’t you?”

Harry hesitated. His first reaction was to agree with Ron immediately. But Hermione’s logic made sense. Both McGonagall and Remus thought it was possible Snape was still on their side, and Harry trusted their judgement. Then there was the fact that Draco Malfoy said the only people he’d talk to were Dumbledore and _Snape_. Why would he want to talk to Dumbledore, the leader of the Order, _and_ Snape if he thought Snape was a loyal Death Eater?

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “I need some time to think about this.”

“Time to think?” Ron snapped. “What is there to think about?”

“I know what I think,” Madam Pomfrey interjected, coming up behind Ron. “I think this visit has lasted long enough. Mr Potter does not need to be agitated right now. He is still recovering from some very serious injuries. I would have thought you’d know better than to yell at someone in Mr Potter’s condition.”

Ron had the grace to blush. Shamefaced, he looked at Harry. “Sorry, mate. I guess I got carried away.”

“S’alright.” Harry brushed it aside. He did want some time to think about Snape, however, so he used Madam Pomfrey’s ready-made excuse. “I am a little tired though.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione immediately apologised, making Harry feel a bit like a heel. He was tired, but it wasn’t like he was about to fall over or anything.

“Maybe you can come back tomorrow?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Only if they agree not to be shouting and getting you stirred up,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly before Ron or Hermione could respond.

“We promise we’ll behave,” Hermione said, taking Ron’s arm. “We really are sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

Harry hugged Hermione and waved goodbye as they left the room. Pomfrey immediately started to fuss over him.

“I’m really all right,” he protested. Inspired he added, “Though I am a bit hungry.”

Pomfrey looked pleased, as Harry had hoped she would. “I’ll see about getting you some lunch then.”

Left alone, Harry’s mind whirled. Snape had cursed Dumbledore. Why? Was he still loyal? And what about Malfoy? Where did his loyalties lie? Harry knew there was more going on than anyone else seemed to know. He just didn’t know what it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 

 

“Think keeping your mouth shut is going to save you, Malfoy?”

 

Draco turned around very slowly. He’d heard the footsteps approaching and knew who it was by the distinctive clump of the artificial leg. He said nothing as Mad-Eye Moody stared at him through the bars on the opening in the door.

 

Draco heard some clinking, and then the door opened. He tensed. He knew nothing good was going to come of this little visit.

 

“I’m here to find out everything you know about You-Know-Who and your Death Eater friends.” Moody’s magical eye spun in his head, as if checking to make sure no one was behind him.

 

Draco maintained his silence.

 

“Where is You-Know-Who hiding?” Moody demanded. “Where is this house Bellatrix Lestrange supposedly owns?”

 

“You know as well as I do the Dark Mark prevents me from telling you where the Dark Lord is,” Draco said calmly.

 

“Surely you know some of his plans though,” Moody persisted. “What do you know about future attacks?”

 

Draco shook his head.

 

“What about Snape then? What do you know about Snape?”

 

“He’s a professor here at Hogwarts,” Draco drawled. “He has longish black hair, black eyes—”

 

“Don’t be getting cheeky with me, boy. Where is he?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“I think you know a lot more than you’re saying,” Moody growled. “Perhaps you just need a little incentive to start sharing it.”

 

Draco saw Moody lift his wand and braced himself. He didn’t know what hex the man was going to throw at him but—

 

_“Crucio!”_

 

The next thing Draco knew, knives were ripping through him. He screamed and fell to the floor. Pain exploded inside him, excruciating in its intensity. He writhed on the floor, screaming, oblivious to anything other than the pain, the waves and waves of endless pain.

 

When the spell was lifted, Draco laid panting and twitching on the floor. He couldn’t think. He could hardly breathe.

 

“Ready to have that little chat now, Malfoy?”

 

Moody’s voice seemed to come from a great distance away. Panting and grimacing, Draco shook his head to clear it. Moving slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position.

 

“Fuck you, Moody,” he spat.

 

Moody laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Still have a bit of spirit left in you, eh? Let’s see what we can do about that.”

 

He levelled his wand and cast the curse again. The fire returned, raging through Draco’s body like an inferno as he collapsed to the ground again, screams ripping from his throat. It was agony. It was intolerable. He was surely dying…

 

_“Alastor Moody!”_

 

The curse was lifted, and Draco didn’t care he was sprawled face up on the hard stone floor. The only thing he cared about was that the pain, the searing, shredding pain was retreating.

 

 _“What do you think you’re doing?!”_ McGonagall’s outraged voice finally registered with Draco. What was she doing here? Where was here?

 

“I’m getting some information out of a Death Eater,” Moody snapped.

 

“You’re torturing him!”

 

“Nothing else works with Death Eaters. He’s been here over a week and hasn’t told us one blasted thing. If we want Malfoy to talk, we’re going to have to get more serious, Minerva. No more namby-pambying around.”

 

“No more—” McGonagall cut herself off. “This is completely unacceptable, Moody. I won’t have it. I’m the leader of the Order while Albus is indisposed and _I Will. Not. Have it._ Do you hear me?”

 

Draco pushed himself up again, though it wasn’t easy to do the way his arms were shaking. It was only pride forcing himself to prop himself up. How the hell how Potter stood going through that over and over? How had he survived it?

 

“You’re as soft as Dumbledore,” Moody scoffed. “He’s a great wizard, but he’s always been too soft on people we’ve captured.”

 

“He’s been _humane_ ,” McGonagall said sharply. “Rest assured, I will be speaking to the Order about this.”

 

“Going to give me detention, too?” Moody shot back.

 

“Get out!” McGonagall shouted, pointing at the door. “Get out right now!”

 

“I’m going,” Moody grumbled. With a last venomous look at Draco, he stalked (as best he could) out of the room and down the corridor.

 

“Oh, Mr Malfoy, are you all right?” McGonagall rushed over to Draco. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea—he had no right to treat you in such a way.”

 

Draco grimaced as he shifted into a more upright position.

 

“I hope you know I would never condone the use of torture,” McGonagall continued.

 

“I know,” Draco managed to say.

 

“Do you think you can make it to the infirmary? Perhaps I should call Poppy down here to see to you.”

 

Draco had absolutely _no_ interest in standing up and walking up four flights of stairs. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’ll have her come down here,” McGonagall decided. “I’ll be right back.”

 

She stepped out of the room for just a few moments. Draco was surprised she was back so quickly. Perhaps she’d changed her mind about getting him help.

 

“I just had to send my Patronus,” she explained.

 

Well, that answered that question. Draco just nodded.

 

They waited in silence until Madam Pomfrey arrived, a phial in one hand and her wand in the other.

 

“What’s happened?” she asked. “You only said to bring something for pain.”

 

“Moody put him under the Cruciatus Curse,” McGonagall replied grimly.

 

“He what?” Pomfrey exclaimed, obviously appalled.

 

“Twice,” Draco put in.

 

Both women turned to stare at him.

 

Pomfrey found her wits first and handed Draco the phial. “For the pain,” she said.

 

Draco took it and swallowed it down quickly. For once he didn’t even mind how foul it tasted.

 

Pomfrey ran her wand over him, muttering various spells.

 

“What he mostly needs is quiet and rest,” she finally said to McGonagall, as if Draco wasn’t even there. “He needs to be in the infirmary.”

 

McGonagall hesitated. “But Poppy…”

 

“I’ll be fine here,” Draco said quietly. “Though perhaps someone not prone to torture could be assigned to guard me.”

 

“I assure you, Alastor Moody will come no where near you again,” McGonagall said quickly. Draco just nodded again.

 

“He really must be moved, Minerva. At least overnight. I can’t be in two places at once, and he needs to be looked after.”

 

“Very well,” McGonagall agreed. “I’ll have to put some precautions in place.”

 

“Whatever you think best. Now, Mr Malfoy, let’s get you out of here.” She conjured a floating stretcher just as she had for Potter.

 

“I might be able to walk,” Draco said. He eyed the stretcher warily.

 

“Nonsense.” Before he knew it, the same levitation charm he’d used on Potter to move him into the Apparition Hoop had been cast on him, and he was floated onto the stretcher.

 

When he was brought into the hospital ward, Potter sat up in bed.

 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong with Malfoy?” he demanded.

 

“Nothing that concerns you right now, Mr Potter,” Pomfrey said, whisking a curtain in place to block Harry’s view of them. Draco heard Potter protesting but was glad for a bit of privacy.

 

Pomfrey administered a couple more potions—one to help reduce his sporadic trembling and another to put him to sleep—then left Draco to sleep.

 

 

*****

 

 

When Draco woke up next day, he found Harry Potter seated at his bedside.

 

“Taken up tending to the wounded, Potter?” he asked sarcastically and then cleared his throat. It was a bit sore from the screaming he’d done.

 

Potter handed him a glass of water. “I remember how badly I wanted water…afterwards.”

 

Draco took it gratefully and drank it all. He handed the glass back to Potter. He was appreciative enough to mutter, “Thank you.”

 

“Just returning the favour,” Potter said, smiling just a little. Then he sobered. “I’m so sorry Moody did this to you. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

 

“He was thinking I’m Death Eater scum that needed to be taught a lesson.”

 

“You’re not—” Potter cut himself off. “It doesn’t matter who or what you are. What he did was wrong.”

 

“Not interested in revenge by proxy, Potter?”

 

Potter stared at him. “How can you say that to me?” he demanded. “You don’t know me very well, but I would have thought you knew me well enough to know that I’d never want such a thing. Never agree to such a thing.”

 

Somehow Potter managed to make Draco feel a little guilty. Wasn’t that odd. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

 

Glancing around, Harry cast a privacy spell.

 

“I haven’t told them,” he hissed. When Draco’s brow furrowed, he clarified, “I haven’t told them what you did to me.”

 

Draco was stunned. “You haven’t?” It was difficult to wrap his mind around the idea that Potter had kept mum about Draco participating in his torture. “Why not?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted.

 

“You’re not sure,” Draco said flatly. “What have you told them?”

 

“I told them everything else. I just left out the part that you were involved in…hurting me.”

 

“Torturing you,” Draco corrected. He knew exactly what he’d done to Potter—there was no use in sugar-coating it, especially now that he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that wretched curse.

 

“Fine, torturing me,” Harry snapped, obviously frustrated. “You saved my life, for fuck’s sake! You never fucked around with me while you were guarding me. You gave me water. You never did anything unless you were ordered to do it. And even then…”

 

“Even then…what?”

 

“Even then I don’t think your heart was really in it.”

 

Draco was astounded. How in Merlin’s name did Potter know he hadn’t wanted to participate? He thought he’d hidden it so well. Certainly none of the other Death Eaters had noticed any reluctance on his part—if they had, they would have probably tortured him, too. And how could Potter possibly know he’d held back and not used his full power when he had been forced to curse him?

 

“How did you—” He cut himself off, annoyed that he’d said anything.

 

Potter just looked at him. “So it’s true then? You held back?”

 

Draco considered lying but decided a noncommittal response would be best. “Possibly.”

 

Harry sighed in exasperation. “Can you ever give a straight answer?”

 

Draco smirked. “Sometimes.”

 

Harry huffed out a laugh. “You’re too much, Malfoy.” He paused. “And how did I know?” he asked rhetorically, referring back to Draco’s earlier aborted question. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I had. I wasn’t sure, but I thought your curses were a little less…vicious than the others’.”

 

“You can tell the difference between Cruciatus Curses?” Draco asked in disbelief.

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But I watched you. You never seemed as enthusiastic.”

 

Draco remembered how Potter had always watched him. Watched him with those piercing green eyes. It had made him very uncomfortable then, and it did now as well.

 

“Will you still not tell me why you rescued me?” Potter asked, changing the subject. Draco was glad to move on to another topic, though he wished Potter had picked something else to talk about. Especially since he _couldn’t_ talk about it.

 

“I can’t. I’ve already told you this,” Draco responded, letting a bit of impatience show.

 

“You’ll still only talk to Dumbledore or Snape?” Harry persisted. “Why only them?”

 

“Because they’re the only two I _can_ talk to,” Draco snapped and then cursed himself. How did Potter always manage to get under his skin and make him say things he didn’t intend to say? He’d just spent months being very, very careful about every word that came out of his mouth, and Potter had him saying things he shouldn’t with one simple question.

 

“The only ones you _can_ talk to,” Potter repeated, studying Draco carefully. Draco kept his face void of any expression.

 

“The only ones you can talk to,” he murmured again, thoughtfully, his eyes shifting to stare into space. His gaze slid back to Draco and seemed to bore a hole right into Draco’s mind. “Did you take an Unbreakable Vow?”

 

Draco said nothing but reinforced his Occlumency shields just in case. He seriously doubted Potter knew Legilimency but…

 

“Holy shit, that’s it, isn’t it?”

 

Draco thought Potter looked a little too excited by this news. Why the hell did Potter care what he’d done or hadn’t done?

 

“I knew there was something else going on here,” Potter said, seemingly to himself. He continued to mutter to himself under his breath, but Draco couldn’t make out what he was saying.

 

Draco cursed himself again for putting himself in such a tenuous position. He had to do something to keep Potter from blabbing whatever he thought he knew to everyone he came into contact with.

 

“Potter,” he said, drawing the other man’s attention. “I need you to leave this alone.”

 

Harry eyed him narrowly. “Why?”

 

“I’d consider it a personal favour,” Draco said, ignoring Harry’s question.

 

Harry mulled it over. Malfoy seemed pretty concerned about Harry’s deduction, which meant he was probably right, or close to it. Malfoy had been dead set on saying nothing ever since he brought Harry to Hogwarts. Whatever secret he was keeping, it was obviously important. And Harry knew he owed Malfoy—owed him much more than keeping one secret.

 

“What about after Snape comes back, or Dumbledore wakes up? Will you tell me then?” Harry bargained.

 

“I’ll let them tell you,” Draco said, hiding his elation and relief at the confirmation that Dumbledore was still alive. He didn’t know what Potter meant by Dumbledore waking up, but the important thing for Draco was that he wasn’t dead. “You’ll never believe me otherwise. You probably still won’t.”

 

“All right then,” Harry said. “I won’t say anything more about it. I promise.”

 

Malfoy seemed a bit surprised by Harry’s agreement. Harry supposed he was used to untrusting Slytherins.

 

After Malfoy nodded his acceptance of Harry’s promise, they just sat and stared at each other. As the silence began to stretch out, Harry felt the need to fill it for some reason. The silence was uncomfortable, but he was tired of talking about torture and being held captive. He wanted to talk about something completely different.  

 

“So, do you have a girlfriend, Malfoy?” Harry asked with deliberate abruptness. He was thrilled when he saw his out-of-the-blue question had caught Malfoy completely off guard—just as he’d wanted. Why he wanted this, he had no idea, but it was amusing to see Malfoy on his back foot.

 

What the hell was Potter on about now, Draco wondered. “What?”

 

“Just making conversation,” Harry said easily.

 

“We’ve never made conversation before,” Draco responded dryly.

 

“We’ve been having a conversation for the past ten minutes,” Harry pointed out. “And we had one the other day as well.”

 

“We were talking business, not gossiping,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

 

Harry shrugged. “Business is over, now we can just chat. So do you have a girlfriend or not? Were you ever seeing Pansy Parkinson?”

 

Draco stared at Potter. It seemed the Chosen One had decided to have a little social time with the Death Eater. Potter was the strangest person he’d ever met.

 

Well, it wasn’t like he was doing anything else, Draco thought. This could possibly be entertaining.

 

“Briefly,” he answered.

 

“But not anymore?”

 

“No.”

 

“So you’re not seeing anyone now?”

 

“No.”

 

After a moment of silence, Harry prompted him: “This is the part where you ask me if _I’m_ seeing anyone.”

 

“Oh, is it?” Draco was surprised enough by Potter’s playful attitude that he had to hold back a laugh. Merlin, Potter was _strange._ “Sorry. Are you seeing anyone, Potter? Wait, aren’t you seeing the Weasley girl?”

 

“I was,” Harry said. “For a while last year. But we broke up.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, it just wasn’t working out. I think of her more as a sister, which makes the thought of continuing to sleep with her a bit problematic.”

 

Draco choked. Harry smiled unrepentantly. He was pleased to have gotten a reaction out of Malfoy.

 

“You slept with the weasel’s sister?” Draco managed.

 

Harry frowned. “Don’t call him that,” he snapped. “I’m trying to be nice. You could make an effort too.”

 

Draco held up a hand. He really hadn’t meant to antagonise Potter, which was probably a first. He was simply used to calling Ron Weasley a weasel. Seeing as how Potter appeared to be the only remotely friendly face in his world at the moment, however, Draco thought it best not to piss him off.

 

“Sorry,” he said, as sincerely as he could manage.

 

Obviously, his attempt failed.

 

“You’re not sorry,” Potter said. “But that’s ok as long as you don’t do it again.”

 

Draco just nodded. Potter really was the oddest duck.

 

“Anyway, you were asking me about my sex life,” Harry went on blithely. It amused him greatly to see Malfoy’s eyes pop.

 

“No, I wasn’t,” he denied.

 

“You asked me if I slept with Ginny,” Harry reminded him. “That’s asking about my sex life. To answer your question, yes, we slept together. It was rather good, not that I have all that much experience. But it was certainly fun.”

 

“What other kind of experience do you have?” Draco asked before he could stop himself.

 

Harry grinned. “See, now you’re curious. I really shouldn’t tell you any of this, seeing how it’s really not very polite to kiss and tell, but hey, who the hell are you going to tell?”

 

“Absolutely no one,” Draco assured him. No one would ever believe him if he did attempt to tell them about this bizarre…conversation.

 

“See, that’s what I figured,” Harry said. “Anyway, I slept with a Muggle, someone you obviously don’t know.”

 

“A Muggle?” Draco sneered.

 

“Yes, a Muggle,” Harry countered calmly. “I live with my Muggle relatives in the summer. Don’t want to, but I have no choice. They’re all complete arseholes, so I avoid actually being with them as much as possible. I spent this past summer hanging out around town most days.”

 

“And you met some Muggle and just had sex with her?” Draco asked, a bit shocked. Potter had always seemed like such a goody-goody, and here he was off having sex with Muggle strangers.

 

“Nope,” Harry said, clearly enjoying himself. “You got the pronoun wrong.”

 

“I got the—what?” Draco asked, very confused.

 

“You asked if I had sex with _her_ ,” Harry explained. “I had sex with _him.”_

 

Now Draco was truly astounded. Potter was… _gay?_

 

“I see I’ve really shocked you,” Harry said dryly.  

 

Draco cleared his throat but could think of absolutely nothing to say.

 

Potter sat there and continued to smile unconcernedly at him. Draco finally found his tongue.

 

“So you’re gay then?”

 

Harry scratched his eyebrow. “I think I’m technically bisexual. Though I do believe I lean more towards the gay side than the straight side.”

 

“I…see.”

 

Draco wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, but Potter started laughing so hard Draco thought he might hurt himself.

 

“Oh Merlin, it feels good to laugh,” Harry wheezed as he finally settled down. “You know, I never really thought I’d ever laugh again, after what happened. I guess I have you to thank for that as well.”

 

“Glad I could amuse you,” Draco drawled, completely nonplussed.

 

Harry waved his hand. “That’s not exactly what I meant—I meant that you saved me, so now I have the opportunity to laugh, but now that I think on it, you are rather amusing, Malfoy.”

 

Draco snorted. “I live to serve.”

 

Harry laughed again. Who knew Malfoy actually had a sense of humour? “Now you have to tell me about your love life.”

 

“I most certainly do not,” Draco said, looking almost offended.

 

“Oh, c’mon, I told you about me,” Harry wheedled.

 

“Of your own volition and your own free will,” Draco reminded him. “I never asked you to.”

 

“Ah, but you did ask me about my sex life,” Harry retorted, smiling.

 

“I did—” Draco sputtered to a stop as Potter sat there grinning at him. “You tricked me into it,” he said finally.

 

Harry shrugged. “Whatever. C’mon, Malfoy, be a sport. Don’t you Slytherins ever sit around in the dormitory making up lies about your sex lives?”

 

It was all Draco could do not to laugh. He certainly had sat around telling and listening to lies about sexual prowess dozens of times.

 

Harry smirked knowingly.

 

“Whether we do or don’t, I’m not sitting around having that conversation with you, Potter.”

 

Much to Draco’s surprise, Potter seemed genuinely disappointed.

 

“Well, you’re no fun at all,” he sulked.

 

“I can be in some situations,” Draco said, unable to resist. “I’ve certainly been told I am.” He lifted a brow and smirked slyly.

 

“I knew it!” Harry shouted, slapping his hand on the bed. “I knew you Slytherins were just as dirty-minded as the rest of us.”

 

Harry was still laughing when McGonagall entered the room. She appeared rather stunned to see Harry Potter sitting with Draco Malfoy, laughing like a loon.

 

Harry waved his wand and ended the privacy spell he’d cast earlier. Draco had forgotten all about it.

 

“Well,” McGonagall started, obviously having no idea what could possibly be going on, “I see you are both feeling better.”

 

Harry smiled at her. “They do say laughter is the best medicine, you know,” he said rather cheekily. Draco just stared at him. Who was this person?

 

“Yes, well.” McGonagall cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, if Mr Malfoy is well, I’m afraid he needs to go back to his…other accommodations.”

 

Harry sobered quickly. He seemed to finally realise he’d been sitting around laughing and joking with a Death Eater.

 

McGonagall left to go have a word with Madam Pomfrey.

 

“I’m sorry you have to go back to the dungeons, Malfoy,” Potter said.

 

Draco shrugged. He’d gotten so caught up in the conversation, he’d almost forgotten it was _Potter_ he was chatting with. How was that even possible? “It’s all right. I’m used to them, you know.”

 

“True,” Potter said thoughtfully. “It really was nice talking to you though.”

 

“I’m not quite sure what it was,” Draco said honestly.

 

Harry smirked. “Not sure what to think of me, are you?”

 

Draco shook his head and for once told the complete truth. “No.”

 

“I’m not the person you think I am,” Harry said, abruptly serious. “I’m not the person most people think I am. I want you to remember that.”

 

Their “conversation” apparently over, Potter stood up. “See you around, Malfoy.”

 

“See you around, Potter,” Malfoy murmured as he watched Harry walk away. Potter truly was the oddest person he’d ever met.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

After Malfoy was taken away, Harry pondered what had just happened. If someone had told him he’d be willingly sitting around laughing with Death Eater Malfoy just days after being rescued from Voldemort’s clutches, he would have declared them mental and arranged for them to be shipped off to St Mungo’s straightaway.

Harry wasn’t quite sure why he’d started the personal conversation with Malfoy. When he’d been told what Moody had done to Malfoy, he’d been furious. Outraged. They were the _good_ guys. Didn’t they have to hold themselves to a higher standard? Otherwise, how would they be any different than the Death Eaters who’d tortured _him_?

 

When the thought that it would feel very good to give a little of the torture he’d experienced back to some Death Eaters in retribution had flashed into his mind, Harry had shoved it aside. He didn’t want to acknowledge his feelings because then he’d have to deal with them. He didn’t want to think about the torture.

 

Of course he did think about it. How could he not? Taunting jibes that followed up vicious curses would ring through his head, chased by memories of breath-stealing pain, the bright rending of flesh ripping open, the coppery smell of his own blood as it dripped. Numb despair could suck him down into a spiral of endless misery and he had to actively fight not to let himself drown. Sometimes the challenge was insurmountable. He’d taken himself off to the bathroom more than once when the shaking had gotten uncontrollable. He didn’t want Pomfrey or anyone else seeing him when he was a mass of quivering fear and brutally tangible memories. So he hid in the bathroom, the echoes of past agonies rippling over his skin, suffering.

 

In self-defence, he spent great quantities of energy shoving thoughts of his nine days in captivity out of the forefront of his mind, and he planned to keep it that way as long as he could. Hearing about what Moody had done to Malfoy had given him something else to think about, something else to be angry about, and he’d latched onto it gladly.

 

He’d been shocked and angry to learn that a member of the Order was using the Cruciatus Curse, but he’d been angry above and beyond just the moral issue related to using torture. He’d actually felt concerned for _Malfoy_. It had surprised him. He may have felt grateful to Malfoy for saving his life but to feel concern for him?

 

He’d felt the need to apologise to Malfoy. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he’d known what Moody was going to do and encouraged it or something. But he’d still felt the need, so he’d decided to sit with Malfoy and wait for him to wake up so he could apologise. And perhaps try to get a little more information from the tight-lipped man while he had the opportunity.

 

And he had.

 

An Unbreakable Vow, Harry mused. That had to be it. The way Malfoy had reacted sure seemed to lend some serious credence to Harry’s theory. But with whom had Malfoy entered into an Unbreakable Vow? Dumbledore? Snape? And what on earth could he have vowed?

 

Harry rolled over onto his side, frustrated. He was dying to know what Malfoy had vowed. But he’d promised not to ask. Why the fuck had he promised that? Not that Malfoy could have told him anything even if he hadn’t promised. But what he’d really promised was not to discuss what he suspected with anyone. That was too bad. He could use Hermione’s brain for this one.

 

The other thing that stumped him was his own behaviour. What the devil had inspired him to gab it up with Malfoy? And to talk about sex, of all things. Hell, he’d told Malfoy things he’d only ever told Ron and Hermione. They’d both been a little surprised when he’d told them he thought he was probably gay. Hermione had been shocked when he’d admitted to having sex with someone he hardly knew. Harry really hadn’t surprised himself by doing it, however. Like he’d just told Malfoy, he wasn’t really the person most people thought he was. Not even Ron and Hermione sometimes.

 

‘I actually had fun,’ Harry thought. ‘I had fun talking to Malfoy. I _laughed_. I joked around with him. How can that even be possible? The bloke’s a complete and total arse. I’ve hated him for years. He’s the _ferret._ He’s a fucking Death Eater.’

 

Harry couldn’t imagine what Ron would say if he told him about the conversation he’d had with Malfoy. Well, he sort of could. He knew there’d be a lot of expletives involved.

 

Maybe his brain had been damaged from all the torture he’d endured. That would at least explain why he’d suddenly gotten so chummy with Malfoy.

 

“Hey mate!”

 

The cheerful voice cut into Harry’s musings. He looked up and saw Ron and Hermione coming into the room. The thought crossed Harry’s mind that it was a very good thing that Malfoy was no longer in the infirmary.

 

“Hey guys,” he greeted them, sitting up. “Good to see you.”

 

“How are you feeling today? You look much better,” Hermione commented.

 

“I feel much better,” Harry said. “Not one-hundred per cent yet, but a definite improvement.” He winked at Ron. “It’s probably all the food.”

 

Ron grinned. Then his smile faded. “Did they feed you at all?”

 

Harry shook his head. “No, they didn’t. But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me what else has been going on that I’ve missed. I didn’t even know Hogwarts was closed until I got your letter, Hermione.”

 

“Really? I guess they just hadn’t had time to tell you.”

 

“Why did they close it? Because of Dumbledore?”

 

“Partly,” Hermione said. “Many people just don’t feel it’s safe here without Professor Dumbledore. But a big part of the decision to close the school was that the war is getting worse, Harry. The attack where you were taken…it was bad. It was really bad.”

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

“A lot of people were killed,” Ron said. “There was a lot of damage done to Diagon Alley. People are scared out of their minds. It doesn’t feel like anywhere is safe any more.”

 

“Was anyone we know killed?” Harry asked hesitantly.

 

“Hestia Jones,” Hermione said, looking very sad. “And Mr Ollivander.”

 

“Damn,” Harry muttered, remembering the woman who had been part of his guard that summer before fifth year. “I liked Hestia. And what will people do about getting wands if Ollivander’s gone?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “We don’t know.”

 

“The rest of the people who died were all people either shopping or working in one of the stores,” Ron continued. “There were sixteen all together. A couple of little kids died. And there were a ton of people injured.”

 

Harry looked grim. “They’re killing children. And getting brazen enough to attack large public places. This _is_ getting bad.”

 

Ron nodded seriously. “Very bad. Like I said, people are scared to leave their homes. Diagon Alley is like a ghost town.”

 

“Have you been?”

 

“Yeah, to help Fred and George with making some new products to help fight the war.”

 

“I’m surprised your mum let you out of the house,” Harry commented.

 

Ron grimaced. “She didn’t want to. We had a rather spectacular row over it. But I’m of age, and it was my decision to go. She didn’t like me joining the Order either, but she couldn’t stop me any more than she could stop Fred and George joining when they turned seventeen and left Hogwarts. And as Bill helpfully pointed out, I’m always with you, so I was pretty much an Order member already anyway.”

 

“You and Hermione joined the Order before I did,” Harry objected. “I had to wait until July.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, Harry. You know as well as I do that was just a formality. Ever since Dumbledore told you the prophecy, you’ve been kept up to date on a lot of stuff.”

 

“True,” Harry mused. “At least now I don’t have to fight to be involved every step of the way.”

 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

 

“What? What is it?” Harry demanded.

 

Ron nodded at Hermione for her to go ahead.

 

Hermione wet her lips. “Some people think the attack at Diagon Alley was specifically designed to get to you, Harry. And they succeeded.”

 

“What? How could they have possibly known I was going to be there? That any of us were going to be there?”

 

Again with the exchanged glance, Harry noted. This obviously wasn’t good.

 

“We aren’t sure,” Hermione said slowly. “But we think there may have been people posted in large wizarding areas with the specific task of keeping an eye out for you.”

 

Harry goggled. “What?”

 

“We’re not sure,” Hermione repeated. “It’s just that no one can figure out how else the Death Eaters would have known you’d be there. It wasn’t like it was announced. It may have just a lucky—or rather, unlucky—coincidence that we were all there at the same time the Death Eaters attacked.”

 

“But some people think it was planned? That I was targeted? That I was the _reason_ for the attack?” The thought sickened Harry—all of those people had died and been injured in an attack that happened simply because he was there? He didn’t like that idea at all.

 

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I’m one of them.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It was too carefully orchestrated. They first appeared in the exact area where we were, Harry. Nowhere else. They didn’t spread out and hit more of the Alley until after they’d taken you. They went for you right off the bat, like they knew where you were going to be. Too many things worked out perfectly for them for it to be a coincidence in my book.”

 

Harry nodded slowly. Based on that information, he had to agree with Ron.

 

“And it’s just more evidence that Snape has betrayed us,” Ron continued harshly. “It all happened at once—you were captured, Dumbledore was injured. It’s obvious Snape told You-Know-Who we would be at Diagon Alley, and the attack was planned.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “That’s just it. Snape didn’t know we were going to Diagon Alley that day. In fact, we found out later he’d actually cautioned Professor McGonagall that it might be a good idea to warn people to stay away from wizarding areas like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”

 

“That just means he knew something was going to happen,” Ron argued.

 

“Why would he have told her that if he wasn’t on our side, Ron?” Hermione argued back. “If McGonagall had actually warned us in time, we might have never gone. As it was, your mother was very nervous about us going.”

 

“He might have been covering his arse,” Ron said. “Telling McGonagall that so if later something did happen, it would look like he’d done what he could to warn us. Besides, it wasn’t a secret we were going. It was planned a couple of days in advance. Snape could have found out about it from someone and informed You-Know-Who. Then they would have known to post a lookout in Diagon Alley that day and have people ready to attack the minute that lookout reported in.”

 

Hermione sighed. This was obviously something they’d gone around about many times before.

 

“All right, let me get this straight,” Harry said. “Snape didn’t know we were going to Diagon Alley, but he could have found out so some people think he may have betrayed us. But other people think Voldemort had people out there assigned to look for me everyday. All the lookout would have to do when they saw me is Apparate to wherever Voldemort is and tell him where I was. Then the Death Eaters would be sent to get me.”

 

“Yes, that’s it in a nutshell,” Hermione agreed. “What do you think, Harry?”

 

“I think it’s all crazy! I mean, I know Voldemort wants me, but for him to go to the trouble of having lookouts posted in multiple places all day everyday—that’s a bit hard to imagine.

 

“On the other hand, I don’t want to think Snape told Voldemort we’d be in Diagon Alley. I know it’s _possible_ he overheard someone talking about it, but is it _likely_? Suppose a few of us told friends which day we’d be going to Diagon Alley. Who do we socialise with that would later be hanging out with Snape? Snape doesn’t socialise with anyone.”

 

Ron barked out a laugh. “Who would be _willing_ to socialise with the old bat?” Then he sobered. “The lookout idea is possible, but it’s complicated and rather time consuming, as you said. It would involve so many people—they’d have to be taking it in shifts. And then if you were seen, Voldemort would have to have time to round up some available Death Eaters to go in for the attack. That’s a lot of last minute coordinating.

 

“I’m still thinking it was Snape. He hears you’ll be in Diagon Alley shopping. He tells You-Know-Who. Then You-Know-Who orders a bunch of Death Eaters to be ready at any moment that day. He stations a couple of lookouts in Diagon. When one reports in, the Death Eaters are sent immediately. He gets you, and as a bonus, Dumbledore shows up, and Snape badly injures him. It’s simple.”

 

Harry shook his head. “I just can’t believe it was Snape. I hate the man as much as you do, Ron, but Dumbledore has told me a thousand times he trusts Snape and has good reasons for doing so. And Snape has given us some valuable intelligence the past few years. He also didn’t kill Dumbledore when he could have; he only hurt him. Why would he betray us now?”

 

“I know Dumbledore trusts him, but I just can’t,” Ron said impatiently. “Who knows why he would betray us now—maybe he thinks we’re losing and wants to be on the winning side. We were talking about the trip to Diagon Alley at the Boxing Day gathering at my house. There were loads of people there that could have heard us. All it would take is one person mentioning it in Snape’s presence…”

 

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes while they tried to puzzle it out.

 

“Well, I give up,” Harry finally said. “I don’t know what to believe. I guess if I were forced to pick one option, I’d go with it not being Snape. It’s just a feeling I have.”

 

Ron looked like he was ready to argue again, but Hermione cut in.

 

“We can sit here going around about this for the next several hours and still not figure it out. Let’s talk about something else.”

 

Ron looked like he didn’t want to drop it, but after a look from Hermione, he kept his mouth shut.

 

Harry pursed his lips. “Well, anything else I missed? Any more good news?” He smiled sarcastically.

 

Ron considered for a moment. “Well, we’ve heard some people saying stuff about you since you’ve been back.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“You’re not going to like it,” Ron warned him. “But a few people think it’s not safe for you to be, well, running around loose, without any protection.”

 

“Running around loose?” Harry grew cold. “You don’t mean they’re planning to lock me up?” The very idea of being caged again made Harry’s stomach pitch.

 

“No!” Hermione cried, shooting Ron a dirty look. “Ron’s making a complete hash out of this. It’s only a few people, but at the meeting last night it was suggested that perhaps you be kept somewhere safe. Perhaps even in the Muggle world.”

 

“The Muggle—what? No way,” Harry said firmly. “I’m not hiding out in the Muggle world. I’m a part of this war whether anybody likes it or not, and there’s nothing to be done for it. I refuse to be…to be wrapped in cotton wool like I’m something fragile.”

 

“That’s what we told them you’d say,” Ron said.

 

“That’s what most people said you’d say,” Hermione agreed.

 

“Of course Moody thinks you’re a liability,” Ron added. “He thinks you need to be sent away to make everyone else safer.”

 

Harry stared at Ron for a moment before snarling, “I’m so pissed off at that bastard.”

 

Ron and Hermione looked taken aback by Harry’s vehemence.

 

“Whoa. What’s your problem with Moody?” Ron wanted to know. “No one else agreed with him last night, by the way. So it’s nothing to twist your knickers about.”

 

“Did McGonagall tell you what he did to Malfoy?” Harry demanded.

 

“What, that he used the Cruciatus on that ferret?” Ron asked, apparently unconcerned. “Yeah, she did.” The _so what?_ was clearly implied.

 

“Ron, he _tortured_ him,” Harry said, staring at his friend. “We shouldn’t be using torture on anyone.”

 

After risking a glance at Ron, Hermione looked at Harry. “I agree with you, Harry. We have to hold ourselves to a higher standard.”

 

Harry remembered thinking the exact same thing earlier and was glad at least one person agreed with him.

 

“You really think we should be using torture like the Death Eaters do?” Harry demanded of Ron. “Like they used on me?”

 

Ron looked uncomfortable. “It’s not really the same thing, Harry.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Harry snapped. “Torture is torture. I know. You don’t.”

 

“We’re talking about Death Eaters here, Harry. Evil people. It’s not the same as what happened to you. They did it to you for…for fun.”

 

“And to try and get information out of me,” Harry reminded him hotly. “Exactly like Moody was trying to do with Malfoy. And are you forgetting that Malfoy _saved my life?_ Doesn’t that count for anything?”

 

“Of course it does,” Ron shot back. “But it’s the only good thing he’s probably ever done in his life.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. “Just because he was a bastard to us in school doesn’t mean he deserves to be tortured.”

 

“He’s a fucking Death Eater, Harry!”

 

“Ron! Harry!” Hermione shushed them urgently. “Please stop this. It’s getting us nowhere. And if Madam Pomfrey catches the two of you at it again, she’ll kick us out.”

 

Harry suddenly became aware of the fact that he was on his feet with his wand clenched in his fist. He didn’t even remember picking it up. Ron was glaring at him, face red.

 

Harry abruptly sat down as all of his energy suddenly drained away. What the hell was going on? Were he and Ron about to come to blows over Malfoy? Harry mentally shook his head. Malfoy wasn’t the real issue; the real issue was that Ron apparently condoned torture.

 

“I think maybe it would be best if we go,” Hermione said tentatively. She looked almost frightened. “You look very tired, Harry.”

 

Harry looked at Ron, who appeared to be calming down and was looking a little bewildered by what had just happened as well.

 

“Yeah,” he said, a bit shortly. “I think I am a little tired. See you tomorrow?”

 

Hermione nodded. “Of course. We’ll be back—”

 

She was interrupted by Severus Snape sweeping through the infirmary doors. He looked about as rough as Harry had ever seen him. He didn’t appear to be surprised to see Harry though.

 

McGonagall was hot on his heels. “Severus, wait!”

 

Snape spun around to face her. “Wait for what, Minerva?” he asked silkily. “For the rest of the Order to get here and stop me from doing what needs to be done to save the Headmaster?”

 

“No, of course not,” McGonagall said. “It’s just that…”

 

“It’s just that most of the Order is convinced I’ve betrayed them because I cursed their leader,” Snape finished impatiently. “Which is exactly why I need to get in there _now_ to end the spell I cast. If I don’t do it now, the rest of the Order will prevent me from doing what is necessary to save him.”

 

He paused then sneered. “Or am I assuming too much by thinking you still trust me?”

 

McGonagall drew herself up to her full height. “I trust you, but you are right—many in the Order no longer do. They see your actions as a genuine attack against the Headmaster. But I feel as though we must speak with them to convince them otherwise before I let you in to see Albus.”

 

“You can save him?” Harry asked quietly as he got out of bed again, though his voice was heard clearly by everyone in the room.

 

“Stay out of this, Potter, it’s none of your concern,” Snape snapped.

 

“It _is_ my concern, as I’m a member of the Order,” Harry countered evenly, determined not to let Snape rile him. “And if you think you can save the Headmaster, I agree that you should be allowed to try it.”

 

“Harry!” Ron hissed in disbelief. “Do you know what you’re saying? I told you what Snape did to Dumbledore. He’s probably the one who set you up! He can’t be trusted! If we let him in to see Dumbledore, he’ll kill him!”

 

Harry reminded himself not to lose his temper as he faced Ron. The fact that it was rather surreal to be standing up for Snape helped. “I disagree. If Snape had wanted to kill Dumbledore he would have done it already, instead of cursing him with whatever it is he used.”

 

“He’s just here to finish him off!” Ron shouted. “Why can’t you see that?”

 

“Dumbledore trusts Snape,” Harry said with what he thought was admirable calm. “I trust Dumbledore. And what you’ve told me about the battle hasn’t convinced me that Snape’s betrayed us. If Snape says he can help Dumbledore, we have to let him do it.”

 

Ron grabbed fistfuls of his hair in both hands. “You’ve lost your mind, Harry.”

 

Glancing over at Snape, Harry was bemused to notice that Snape seemed to be reluctantly fascinated by the battle of wills taking place before him. He was probably shocked to hear Harry Potter taking his side.

 

“Can you save him?” Harry asked the Potions master again.

 

“I’m the only one who can save him,” Snape replied tersely. “It’s a spell of my own creation. And one that’s going to do irreparable harm if it isn’t removed soon.”

 

Harry nodded and looked first at Hermione and then McGonagall.

 

“Let’s go then,” he said. “Where’s the Headmaster?”

 

“Potter, you can’t just make a decision like this by yourself,” McGonagall protested, obviously shocked at the way Harry had just taken control of the situation. “It’s a decision that has to be made by the Order.”

 

“You agree with me,” Harry said with more confidence than he felt. “I’m pretty sure Hermione agrees with me.” He glanced at Hermione. Hermione looked warily at Ron before hesitantly nodding her head.

 

“And Snape obviously agrees, so it’s four votes to one,” Harry went on. “You know Snape’s right. If the rest of the Order is called in—if Moody alone is involved, Snape will never have the chance to end this spell. And Dumbledore might die. What other choice do we have?”

 

“Are you all mad?” Ron yelled. “Snape’s not getting near Dumbledore. I won’t let it happen. I’ll stop him.”

 

Harry whirled around, wand in hand. He pointed it at Ron.

 

“Don’t make me,” he warned his best friend.

 

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two friends stared each other down.

 

Ron abruptly lifted his wand. Harry was faster though.

 

_“Expelliarmus!_ ” he said sharply. _“Petrificus Totalus.”_

 

As Harry watched Ron fall to the floor, he wondered if he’d just lost his best friend.

 

 

*****

 

 

When Harry looked around, everyone, including Snape, was staring at him in utter shock. He understood exactly how they felt—he was just as shocked by what he’d done. He could hardly believe it—had he really just hexed his best friend?

 

Resolutely, Harry shook off the dread and self-loathing he was feeling.

 

“Are we going to do this or not?” he demanded.

 

“ _You_ are not doing anything, Potter,” Snape said, snapping out of his disbelief.

 

“I’m coming with you,” Harry said, his tone brooking no argument.

 

Snape seemed to understand the futility in trying to dissuade Harry. Robes billowing, he stalked off toward the back of the infirmary. Harry and McGonagall followed him.

 

Madam Pomfrey stood in front of a door Harry’d never seen before.

 

“Minerva?” she asked, looking a bit frightened. Harry was sure she’d overheard everything.

 

“Let us in,” McGonagall said briskly.

 

Pomfrey moved aside and removed some wards from the door. Snape pushed past her and into the room beyond.

 

It was obviously a private hospital suite. Harry’d had no idea the infirmary had such a thing but figured it was reserved for staff when they were ill.

 

The Headmaster lay in the bed, pale and still, his long beard draped over the hands folded over his middle. Harry stared and couldn’t detect the regular lift and fall of a sleeping person’s chest. His stomach clutched. Albus Dumbledore looked…dead.

 

He looked at Snape. Was he doing the right thing? Was he putting his trust in the right person? What would he do if Ron was right and Snape killed Dumbledore?

 

Snape glanced at him and must have read Harry’s thoughts from his face. Harry knew he wasn’t using Legilimency. Harry may have been an Occlumens but he knew he still showed a lot of how he felt in his expressions, much to Snape’s disgust.

 

“Don’t start doubting yourself now, Potter,” he said, curling his lip. “And stay out of my way.”

 

Harry stepped back, and with McGonagall, watched as Snape lifted his wand and began to sweep it left to right, muttering as he did so. He flicked downward sharply then did a complicated little twist of his wrist. A neon blue light shot out from his wand and hit Dumbledore in the chest. Dumbledore’s back arched up off the bed, and Harry heard him inhale loudly.

 

Snape reached inside his robes and removed a phial of muddy yellow liquid. After bracing the back of the Headmaster’s head, Snape opened Dumbledore’s mouth and poured in the potion.

 

Almost immediately, the old wizard began to hack and cough. Snape held him upright until the coughing subsided. Then, with uncommon gentleness, he laid him back down flat on the bed.

 

“He should wake up momentarily,” Snape said, stepping away from the bed. Before he’d even finished speaking, Dumbledore began to stir.

 

Blue eyes opened and looked around the room.

 

“Ah, Severus,” he said rather hoarsely. He glanced around. “May I have some water?”

 

Snape picked up a glass and filled it with water. It struck Harry that giving people water seemed to be an on-going theme in his life right now. The Headmaster swallowed it down quickly.

 

“There now, as I was saying,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, how good it is to see you. Thank you for coming along to wake me up. I must say, I feel quite well rested.”

 

Harry just stared at the Headmaster. The man was acting like he’d just woken up from a nice long nap to find himself at a tea party.

 

“Harry!” Harry jumped at the sound of his name. “How are you? It’s quite a relief to see you back with us. The last I’d heard was the rather upsetting news that you’d been captured.”

 

“Uh, yes, sir,” Harry said. “I was captured. But I’m…better now, thanks.”

 

Snape glanced at Harry sharply. Harry wondered how much he knew about his time in captivity.

 

“Minerva, I hope you haven’t been too worried about me,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

 

“I’ve been worried sick!” McGonagall said severely. “I’m sure you don’t realise this, but you’ve been in a coma for over two weeks! We weren’t sure if you were ever going to wake up.”

 

“Two weeks?” Dumbledore looked at Snape and appeared to be mildly curious—and perhaps a little amused. “I see you took your sweet time getting back to me.”

 

Snape gave Dumbledore an unreadable look. “My apologies. I was unavoidably detained.”

 

“No apologies necessary, Severus. I know you got here as soon as you could. And I needed a good rest. I suppose the worry was troubling for everyone else though. I am sorry for that.”

 

“We’re all just glad you’re all right now, sir,” Harry said. “Everyone will be thrilled to hear the news.”

 

“As would I be, were I in someone else’s shoes. Do you think I could get up now?”

 

“Let’s let Poppy look you over,” McGonagall suggested. She motioned for Madam Pomfrey, who was hovering in the doorway, to come in. Harry took that as his cue to exit.

 

Nodding to the others, he slipped out of the room. He leaned against the wall and let out a long, slow breath of relief. Dumbledore was fine. He’d made the right decision to trust Snape and hadn’t gotten the old man killed. He felt some of the knots of tension he’d carried since learning of Dumbledore’s condition dissolve. He’d worried about what the Order would do without Dumbledore at the helm. They needed his expertise, his knowledge, his power, to fight this war. Harry felt steadier just knowing their leader was back.

 

Now he just had to go face the music that was Ron Weasley.

 

Dragging his feet (mostly figuratively, but partially literally as he now noticed he was feeling rather exhausted), Harry made his way back to the main room of the hospital wing. He saw Hermione sitting with Ron on one of the beds. When she saw him, she jumped up and looked at him anxiously.

 

“He’s awake,” Harry announced, pasting a smile on his face. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. “He’s absolutely fine. He wasn’t even surprised when he woke up. I think he knew all about this spell of Snape’s.”

 

Hermione had sagged in relief at Harry’s opening statement. Now she turned to Ron.

 

“Did you hear that Ron? Professor Dumbledore is all right,” she said quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Ron said, finally looking up at Harry. “That’s good news.”

 

Harry met Ron’s gaze but waited for him to make the first move.

 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Ron said slowly. His voice rose in volume with each word, until he was practically shouting. “How dare you disarm me? Petrify me? I thought I was your best friend!”

 

“You are my best friend,” Harry said calmly, trying to ignore the way his stomach was clutching and palms were sweating. “And I didn’t want to do what I did. You have to believe that. I just didn’t see any other choice.”

 

“No other choice?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You chose to trust Snape over me. Even after everything I’d told you.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Harry insisted. “Don’t even think that.”

 

“What else am I supposed to think, Harry? You defended Snape and disarmed me.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and spoke his next words very carefully. “It’s not a matter of trusting one person over another. I trust you. But in this situation, I also trusted Snape. I’m glad I did. The only choice I made was to prevent you from getting in the way of what I knew had to be done.”

 

“But why did you trust Snape? I thought you hated the slimy bastard.”

 

“I can’t stand the man,” Harry agreed sincerely. “He’s a complete and total arsehole who’s made it one of his life’s purposes to make my life—and yours—a living hell. And he’s done a damn good job of it.

 

“But this is war, Ron, which is bigger than all of us. I don’t like Snape or how he does things. I certainly don’t like how he treats people. But he’s a valuable asset. He brings us critical information about Voldemort. I don’t like him, but I respect and appreciate the risks he takes everyday to get that information for us. Even more so now that I know what the Death Eaters are truly capable of doing to a person.”

 

Harry waited as Ron regarded him silently. It was creepy to have Ron sit there so quietly when Harry knew he was furious. Ron was usually quite vocal when he was angry.

 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you by doing what I did,” he finally said into the hanging silence.

 

“But you’re not sorry you did it,” Ron said flatly.

 

Harry braced himself. “No, I’m not.”

 

Ron stared at him again in utter silence for several long moments. Harry couldn’t interpret the expression on his face, which was also unnerving. He was used to Ron being an open book.

 

“You know what, Harry? Fuck you.” Abruptly, Ron stood. “I think it would be best if I go,” he said shortly. He looked at his girlfriend. “Are you coming, Hermione?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione said, scrambling up from where she’d sat back down on the bed. She shot Harry an apologetic look. Harry tried to give her a “don’t worry about it” look in return. He knew Hermione was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

 

“Bye, Harry,” she whispered as she followed Ron’s stiff form out of the room.

 

Harry watched them go, the knot of anxiety in his stomach pulling tighter and tighter. He felt completely exhausted by the entire day. He flopped down on his bed and pulled the covers over his head. He didn’t want to think anymore. About anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 

 

Next day, when Harry was finally officially allowed up to do some walking around, he insisted on seeing Dumbledore. He was dying to know what the hell was going on with Malfoy.

 

He’d spent the rest of the previous evening suffering over what had happened with Ron. Ron could really hold a grudge—Harry knew that from personal experience. Harry wasn’t sure if Ron was ever going to forgive him for what he’d done, and it made him very sad. Ron was the first friend he’d made in the wizarding world, and along with Hermione, the best friend he’d ever had in his life. They’d been through so much together. He couldn’t imagine not being friends with Ron. Or Hermione. He wondered how Hermione was going to handle being stuck between her boyfriend and her best friend. Would she choose sides? Or would she try to play peacemaker? Harry was betting on the latter, and he sure hoped she was good at it.

 

To top off an already crappy night, he’d had a flashback while he’d been asleep. He’d awoken, gasping for breath and terrified out of his mind. He’d felt phantom pain across his chest where they’d hit him with cutting curses, and he’d actually checked his chest to make sure it wasn’t really cut again. It was the first time his subconscious had brought back the memories through a dream, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like remembering or talking about his experiences while he was awake; now he had to relive them through dreams, too? He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep for a very long time, too tense and worried he’d drop back into the nightmare.

 

He had awoken in a rather cranky mood as a result. He’d picked at his breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey had looked at him suspiciously when he’d confessed to not having slept well. She’d given him a potion, and he’d fallen back to sleep for a couple of hours. When he awoke again, he felt much better and greatly relieved he hadn’t dreamt at all.

 

Now he was waiting impatiently for two o’clock to roll around—the time he’d been told to meet with Dumbledore in his office. Either he was exempt from Madam Pomfrey’s stay-in-bed rule, or Dumbledore really hadn’t had any adverse reaction to the spell Snape had used on him. He’d held out a little hope he’d hear from at least Hermione before he went to the meeting, but there’d been no contact. Harry thought that was a bad sign.

 

Anxious, Harry showed up five minutes early for his meeting with the Headmaster. He wasn’t overly surprised to see Snape, McGonagall, and Malfoy already there.

 

“Ah, Harry, do come in. Tea?” Dumbledore greeted him.

 

“Er, sure. Thank you.”

 

Dumbledore passed him a cup, doctored as he knew Harry liked it.

 

“How are you doing, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, with obvious genuine concern. “Professor McGonagall has filled us—” he glanced at Snape—“in on your terrible ordeal at the hands of Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened to you.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m pretty sorry it happened, too,” Harry said, not sure what else to say. What was one supposed to say when someone told you they were sorry you’d been tortured? “But I’m doing much better, thanks. I still get tired rather easily, but otherwise Madam Pomfrey tells me I am almost fully recovered.”

 

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “You and I shall talk more on this later. But for now, this meeting is to inform both you and Professor McGonagall about the work Mr Malfoy has been doing for us.”

 

Harry looked at Draco, who wore a completely neutral expression. Malfoy had been working for them?

 

“Mr Malfoy has been serving as a spy for the Order,” Snape announced unceremoniously.

 

“Since when?” McGonagall demanded to know after a moment of shocked silence, looking rather stunned by Snape’s pronouncement.

 

“Since shortly before the end of the last school year. I’m not sure if you recall, but Draco went home one weekend in May to celebrate his mother’s birthday. Severus—Professor Snape—informed me Draco had been given the Dark Mark at this time. As he suspected Draco was an unwilling initiate, I called him to my office a few days after he returned to school.”

 

“You didn’t want to be a Death Eater?” Harry asked Malfoy sharply. This was news to him.

 

Draco regarded Potter thoughtfully. How much to tell him?

 

“I wasn’t given a choice,” he said finally.

 

“That’s not what I asked you,” Harry said. “I asked if you _wanted_ to be one.”

 

Potter was a persistent little bugger, Draco thought sourly. “Did I ever want to be one? Yes, when I was younger, I did. Or at least I thought I did. I’m fairly certain you know that. My father wished for me to become one; my mother did not. As is prone to happen, I got a little older and a little wiser. I began to think for myself. I also met the Dark Lord for the first time. Especially after that meeting, I found I wasn’t quite so keen on joining the Death Eaters after all.”

 

Harry was dying of curiosity to know what had happened at the meeting but didn’t ask.

 

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t really see a way to get out of it. If I’d been given a choice, I think I would have decided to remain neutral, or least only peripherally supportive like my mother. My father, however, had promised the Dark Lord I would be joining. I didn’t expect to before I even became of age, but I was Marked just three weeks before my birthday, so I suppose it was deemed close enough. Perhaps my father suspected I wasn’t as…dedicated to the cause as I should be and had me Marked while I was still under age and therefore under his control.”

 

Harry sat quietly and absorbed all of this information. While he was glad Malfoy hadn’t turned out to be the rabid Death Eater it had looked like he’d become when he was younger, it bothered him that he hadn’t actually expressed any particular loyalty to his own side.

 

“How is it you became a spy?” McGonagall asked.

 

“As the Headmaster said, when I returned to school, he called me to his office. When he informed me he knew I was a Death Eater, I figured I was about to be arrested. Or at least expelled. Instead he offered me another option.”

 

Malfoy looked at Dumbledore.

 

“Despite the fact that Mr Malfoy believed he was soon to be arrested, it took quite a lot of convincing on my part to get him to agree to be a spy for us. He did, of course, have some very valid concerns, first and foremost of which was his own safety. I could make him no guarantees, but I promised to do whatever I could to protect him. I don’t believe I actually would have been successful at convincing him to join our side if it hadn’t been for Severus.”

 

This statement didn’t really make Harry feel much better about Malfoy’s true loyalties.

 

“Draco knew me to be a Death Eater—or so he thought,” Snape explained. “He’d seen me at a meeting or two. When Dumbledore called me to his office and I revealed myself as a spy, it seemed to help sway his decision. I could be of assistance to him. He wouldn’t be going it alone.”  

“Why didn’t you just tell us all this when you rescued Potter and brought him here?” McGonagall asked Malfoy.

 

Harry was pretty sure he knew the answer to this one.

 

“Would you have believed me? I had no proof. I am a Marked Death Eater who disappeared from this school last October.”

 

“But you did rescue me,” Harry pointed out.

 

“Which I suspect is the only reason I’m not currently in Azkaban,” Draco said tightly. “I had no way of proving that my bringing you to Hogwarts wasn’t some kind of elaborate plot. The only two people who knew I was a spy weren’t around to vouch for me. And I was also—” Draco cut himself off.

 

“He was also under an Unbreakable Vow,” Snape finished for him.

 

“I was right,” Harry said with satisfaction, sitting back in his chair.

 

Snape looked at Harry with his brows raised. “How could you have possibly known that, Potter?”

 

“I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected it,” Harry clarified.

 

“I must say I am curious to know why you suspected Draco was subject to an Unbreakable Vow,” Dumbledore remarked.

Harry pursed his lips. “There were several reasons. The most important was the fact that Malfoy had risked his own neck to rescue me from that cellar. Then he allowed himself to be taken captive by the Order.”

 

Draco looked at him sharply at that comment. It had never occurred to him Potter would find that suspicious, or that he would even remember that Draco had surrendered without a fight.

 

“Another reason was Malfoy’s behaviour. He wouldn’t tell anyone anything. He kept insisting that he would only speak to one of you,” Harry said, looking at Dumbledore and Snape. “It didn’t make sense that he’d want to talk to either the leader of the Order or a man he knew as a Death Eater. Even after Moody used the Cruciatus on him, he wouldn’t say anything.

 

“When I was being held captive, Malfoy didn’t treat me as badly as he could have. He gave me water several times. He never insulted me or hurt me when he was on guard duty like the other Death Eaters did. And he…”

 

Harry trailed off and looked at Draco.

 

“You can tell them,” Draco said, his face carefully void of any emotion.

 

Even with Malfoy’s permission, Harry hesitated before continuing.

 

“Malfoy only ever tortured me when he was ordered to do so. He never did it voluntarily. And he won’t admit it, but I don’t think he put as much effort into it as the others did.”

 

“You didn’t tell us this before,” McGonagall said, looking both shocked and angry.

 

Harry shrugged. He thought Snape looked mildly surprised to learn Harry had kept Malfoy’s part in the torture to himself.

 

“So there were things that just weren’t adding up for me. I knew there was a lot more going on. The only reason I could think of that Malfoy wouldn’t be telling us why he rescued me was that he was under some kind of oath. An Unbreakable Vow just made sense.”

 

Harry looked at Malfoy and smirked a little. “He also wasn’t being the complete ars—er, prat he usually was.”

 

Draco choked. Had Potter really just said that?

 

“Mr Potter!” McGonagall scolded.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said. But Draco didn’t think he looked very sorry.

 

“I must applaud your deductive reasoning skills, Harry. It was clever of you to put all that together. Now, I think Mr Malfoy’s part in recent events has been explained well enough for the time being,” Dumbledore said, straightening his spectacles on his long nose. “I have been told an Order meeting was just held, but there is new information that needs to shared as soon as possible. Therefore, we will be meeting again, here at Hogwarts, at seven this evening.”

 

Harry didn’t think Malfoy’s story had been explained to his satisfaction at all and said so.

 

“You will receive more information tonight, Harry,” the Headmaster told him. “I am aware that patience is not your strongest virtue, but I must ask you to exercise some for now.”

 

Harry swore he heard Malfoy snort under his breath at Dumbledore’s cheeky remark.

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, none too pleased.

 

“As to Mr Malfoy’s accommodations,” Dumbledore continued. “I see no need for him to be locked in the dungeons any longer. There is a visitor’s room on the third floor you may use, Draco.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Draco said.

 

Dumbledore stood, a clear statement the meeting was over. Snape, however, had one final remark.

 

“Say nothing of this to your little friends, Potter. What they need to know will be revealed at the meeting tonight. You have been given the privilege of being privy to more information than the others will be.” Then he smirked. “Then again, your friends may not even be speaking to you.”

 

Harry glared at Snape for mocking his fight with Ron yesterday. You’d think the man would be a little grateful for the support he’d given him.

 

“I assume you are referring to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “May I ask why they would not be speaking with you?”

 

Snape looked positively gleeful as he answered for Harry. “Potter disarmed and petrified Weasley yesterday.”

 

“I only did it to save the Headmaster, and you know it,” Harry snapped. “You could try being a little grateful. You wouldn’t have gotten into his room if I hadn’t done what I did.”

 

Snape sneered. “I assure you, Potter, I would have found a way in myself. I will admit, however, that you did save me some time.”

 

Harry figured that was as close of a thank you as he’d ever receive from Snape in his life. Malfoy was staring at them both in sheer disbelief.

 

“I do believe you shall have to tell me the full story later, Minerva, assuming you know it,” Dumbledore commented.

 

“I will,” she said, a bit tersely.

 

With that, the meeting broke up. As they were both going to the third floor, Harry and Draco walked together in an awkward silence.

 

“I give up,” Draco said under his breath. To Harry he said, “You disarmed and petrified the we—Weasley?”

 

“Yes,” Harry bit out.

 

“Care to tell me why?” Draco drawled.

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, Potter. I’ll just get it out of Snape later. Wouldn’t you rather have me hear your version as opposed to his?”

 

Harry gave Draco a sour look. “I’d rather you not hear any version at all. It’s a private matter between Ron and myself.”

 

“And Snape, Granger, apparently McGonagall, and now Dumbledore,” Draco added, clearly amused. “You might as well just tell me.”

 

Harry bit his tongue to keep from telling Malfoy to fuck off. Or punching him. It seemed Malfoy was back to being an arsehole. But he had a point—the story would probably get around anyway. It’d be better for him to hear what actually happened as opposed to some mangled version after the story spread through the grapevine.

 

“Fine,” he said testily. “Snape showed up yesterday. He wanted to get in to see Dumbledore. Said he’d used his own curse on Dumbledore, and he was the only one who could end it. McGonagall thought she should ask the Order before letting him in, but Snape said the Order would never let him since they all thought he’d betrayed them by cursing Dumbledore in the first place.

 

“I argued to let Snape save Dumbledore. Ron argued against it. Long story short, I ended up disarming and petrifying him so he wouldn’t stop Snape.”

 

“Well,” Draco said after a moment. “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you to go against your friends that way, Potter. Especially in defence of Snape, of all people.”

 

“I wasn’t defending Snape,” Harry denied. “I was trying to help Dumbledore, and Snape was the best person to help him. End of story.”

 

“I’m forced to admit you’ve impressed me yet again, Potter. Prior to watching you undergo days of torture, I never considered you to be a very strong person. Strong-willed, perhaps. And now this.”

 

Harry was a bit taken aback by Draco’s…compliment? “I did tell you I’m not the person you think I am.”

 

“So you did,” Draco murmured. There was definitely more to Potter than met the eye.

 

They arrived at the infirmary. “Later, Malfoy,” Harry said shortly, and then he disappeared into the ward.

 

Arriving at his new quarters a few minutes later, Draco went in and surveyed the room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was certainly quite a few steps up from the small cell he’d had in the dungeons. The furniture was quite similar to what was used in the Slytherin dormitory, a dark heavy wood, though the bed hangings were a dark navy blue instead of emerald green. A small writing desk stood under the narrow window, complete with inkpot and quill. Another round table with two matching chairs stood on the opposite side of the room, near a door leading to an en suite bath. A divan covered in blue brocade fronted the small stone fireplace.

 

He was going to have to do something about getting some more clothes, Draco thought idly. He’d been allowed to shower, and whoever brought him breakfast would use a spell to clean his clothes, but spells could only do so much. He was sick of wearing the Death Eater robes. He’d never wanted to wear them in the first place. Perhaps McGonagall would let him get some things from his old dormitory, assuming they were still there. He never had gotten any of the things he’d left behind returned to him. He also wanted his wand back. He felt naked without it.

 

He’d missed Hogwarts. He’d been greatly relieved when he’d been able to return in September after spending the summer at home with his increasingly crazy father—who was in hiding, of course, so fortunately wasn’t around all the time—and random Death Eaters running about. Draco shivered—he’d seen entirely too much of his Aunt Bellatrix. Now that was someone truly insane.

 

He’d undergone some training over the summer, which he’d found interesting and quite useful. No more pale Defence Against the Dark Arts—he was actually taught the Dark Arts. He’d already known a little—he was Lucius Malfoy’s son, after all—but he was now much better versed in the subject.

 

He’d also been sent out on a few raids. At first they were to be learning experiences for him, so he started off doing more observing than participating. It certainly was eye opening. He’d soon been dragged into active involvement, however, which he hadn’t liked at all. But he’d learnt to be good at it. He’d quickly learned he didn’t enjoy torturing people any more than he enjoyed being tortured himself. (Well, if he were completely honest, he’d rather be on the giving than the receiving end.) He’d also quickly learned to do it anyway—or at least pretend to be doing it. During the raids things tended to be a bit chaotic, so if he wasn’t being watched he’d used less damaging spells or simply just Stunned people.

 

He’d done his duty and tried to gather information for the infamous Order of the Phoenix. He really hadn’t learned anything useful over the summer though. He hadn’t been privy to important information as he wasn’t included in the “special” meetings the Dark Lord would hold with his most favoured Death Eaters—which included his father and Snape.

 

Severus Snape, the Death Eater double agent. Draco still had a hard time believing it, but it was apparently true. Snape actually gave the Order information about the Death Eaters. Snape fought in battles as a Death Eater, somehow managing to appear to be doing maximum damage when he was in reality doing as little as possible. Snape had told him he’d created some spells that looked much worse than they really were. He’d even taught Draco a few of them, for which Draco had been grateful. Snape had sneered when he’d commented that using spells that either emitted green light or no light at all were the best to use, as the Death Eaters could always be counted on not to question them. He owed Snape, he supposed. He knew Snape had done what he could to shield Draco over the summer.

 

So it had indeed been a relief to board the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. He felt much safer at Hogwarts than he did at home. He also really didn’t have to do anything to fulfil his role as a spy for either side. When he’d joined the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord had told him it was his responsibility to gather information. He was to report back on his fellow students—the Dark Lord wanted to know which were loyal to him. He was also to get whatever information possible about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore.

 

Snape did most of the actual work. Draco had fed some unimportant bits of information to the Dark Lord about Potter and some of his compatriots in Slytherin (the ones he didn’t like very much)—all of it passed along to the Dark Lord via Snape, of course, as Draco couldn’t be coming and going from school at odd hours. He’d known whenever the Dark Lord had called his followers, though. The Dark Mark had burned like a bitch. He hated that he’d have that hideous tattoo marring his skin for the rest of his life.

 

When he’d been unexpectedly summoned home in October, he’d had no clue that he wouldn’t be coming back. He’d been rather leery though. He’d gotten a letter from his mother saying he was needed at home for some family emergency. As Draco had suspected at the time, she’d written it under duress. She hadn’t known Draco wasn’t going to be sent back to Hogwarts either.

 

The Dark Mark had burned shortly after he’d arrived at Malfoy Manor, so he’d dutifully Apparated to the Dark Lord’s location. There’d been a general meeting with some sporadic torturing when the Dark Lord didn’t like the report he got. He’d even ordered Draco to torture his own father. It had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life to that point, but he’d done it. He’d held back his full power, but he’d done it. He didn’t particularly like or trust his father any more, but he didn’t want to torture him. Draco had been flabbergasted when his father had pulled him aside after the meeting and told him how _proud_ he was of him for obeying the Dark Lord’s command so well.

 

Lucius Malfoy was definitely a true believer.

 

Draco wandered the room as he thought, absently noting the strange portrait of Jack Russell terrier wearing a neck ruff and a colourful belled jester’s hat along with other more pedestrian decor. He studied the dog for a few minutes, mildly amused when it woke up from its nap and yipped upon seeing him. But even the silly dog couldn’t prevent his mind from continuing its wandering thoughts about his time with the Death Eaters. During that same meeting where he’d tortured his father, he’d been absolutely terrified when the Dark Lord had singled him out. He had just known he was going to be tortured or murdered. The Dark Lord wasn’t overly pleased with the paltry bits of information Draco had been sending him through Snape. Snape had stood up for him, though. Told the snake-faced bastard that Draco was doing the best he could and was actually able to get more information about Potter than he could since Draco was a student. It was simply difficult as Harry Potter avoided contact with Slytherins as much as possible.

 

The Dark Lord had been appeased and hadn’t tortured Draco for his failure to do a better job. But then he had dropped his bombshell: Draco was not to return to Hogwarts. He had decided Draco was of limited value there—as he had just shown to be true as Draco wasn’t gathering anything useful—and could better serve him by being available for raids and battles. He’d also been assigned to brew various potions. Draco had wondered if his father had bragged about his Outstanding score on his Potions O.W.L.

 

So Draco hadn’t gone back. He’d been mad as hell he wasn’t going to be able to finish his education. But mostly he’d been scared shitless at the idea of being at the Dark Lord’s beck and call every time he wanted to attack somewhere. People _died_ during those attacks. Draco didn’t want to die.

 

But he’d done not only what he’d been told to do—brew an endless number of potions and go out on attacks—but what he’d sworn to do: spy for the Order. Draco thought he’d done a pretty damn good job of it, too, considering he had very limited contact with other Death Eaters outside of meetings and almost none with the Dark Lord. Thankfully, the Dark Lord seemed to have forgotten about him. Whoever the Dark Lord assigned to lead a raid or an attack chose their own group, so Draco had to worry about them more than the Dark Lord most of the time. Draco supposed he’d see how the Order viewed his efforts at the meeting tonight.

 

Draco was nervous about the meeting. About being presented to the Order as someone who’d been working undercover as a spy for them without their knowledge. From what Potter had said, and from comments Snape had made a few times in the past, not everyone in the Order even trusted Snape, and he’d been spying for them for ages. How the hell was Dumbledore going to convince them to trust him, Lucius Malfoy’s son, of all people? He hoped saving the Chosen One’s life was worth a lot to these people.

 

He was worried about what was going to happen to him. Suppose the Order decided not to trust him, or that he was useless now that he could no longer serve as a spy and threw him out? Obliviated him? Where would he go? What would he do?

 

Suppose the Order did give him a chance. He still didn’t really know what that would mean. What would he be expected to do for them now that he couldn’t spy? Maybe he could offer to brew potions. He’d probably be forced to swear some kind of loyalty pledge or perhaps even another Unbreakable Vow. He wasn’t sure if he could, especially if Veritaserum was involved. He didn’t want to fight in this war at all.

 

After much thought and many sleepless nights, he’d come to the conclusion that of the two, Potter’s side was the one he preferred politically—and morally, he supposed. He still didn’t care for Mudbloods or Muggles, but seeing so many of them killed and tortured had turned his stomach. The philosophy the Dark Lord espoused might have sounded good in theory, but in practice…living in terror that he or his family could be killed on a madman’s whim had made him realise that the reality of having the Dark Lord in charge of his world was the worst thing that could possibly happen. But the Dark Lord’s forces were very strong. How could Potter and his friends possibly defeat someone as powerful as Lord Voldemort? Well, if he was going to continue to be involved with this Order, you could be damn sure he’d be doing everything possible to help them defeat the Dark Lord. His life was over if they lost.

 

 

*****

 

 

The Order of the Phoenix gathered at seven in the Great Hall. Harry was surrounded by people telling him how glad they were that he was all right, how sorry they were that he’d been held captive, and so on. He received quite a few hugs; Molly Weasley nearly crushed his ribs as she wept all over his shoulder. It was a little embarrassing, but it also gave Harry a warm feeling to know so many people cared about him.

 

Seeing Ron was awkward to say the least. Harry didn’t have the foggiest idea of how to approach Ron or even if he should. He certainly didn’t want to start a huge row in front of the Order. Hermione solved Harry’s dilemma by dragging Ron over to Harry before the meeting started.

 

“Hello, Harry,” she said with overdone brightness. “How are you today?”

 

“Much better, thank you,” Harry said, playing along. “Madam Pomfrey says I’m almost fully recovered. I don’t even have to take any of those disgusting potions anymore.”

 

“That’s great! Isn’t that great, Ron?”

 

“Yeah. It’s great.” Ron barely met Harry’s eyes.

 

“I—we—were hoping you’d have some time to talk after the meeting,” Hermione pressed on.

 

“Sure,” Harry said, more than happy to know Ron was at least willing to meet with him, even if he was only doing it due to Hermione-inflicted distress.

 

“All right then, well, we’d probably best be getting seated. See you after the meeting, Harry.”

 

With that Hermione dragged Ron off to the other end of the table from where Harry was standing near the front of the room.

 

Dumbledore called the meeting to order in his quiet way. Harry noticed that while Snape was there, Malfoy was not. Perhaps he wasn’t coming after all.

 

Before Dumbledore could say anything, Moody stood up. “What’s _he_ doing here?” he snarled, pointing at Snape.

 

“Attending a meeting of the Order, of which am I member,” Snape said irritably.

 

“You cursed Dumbledore,” Ron put in angrily. Harry wondered if Ron was relishing his chance to strike out at Snape. “You have no right to be here. You betrayed us.”

 

“Severus Snape has not betrayed us,” Dumbledore said firmly. “He followed a plan he and I had put into place long ago should he ever be put in the position of having to harm me or have his cover blown.”

 

“What plan was that?” Molly Weasley asked, with a wary look at Snape.

 

“Should the situation the Headmaster just described ever occur, I was to use a spell of my own design. It is a variation on the old Sleeping Beauty spell.”

 

“Sleeping Beauty spell?” George Weasley queried. “I don’t think we learned that one at Hogwarts.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Remus Lupin said. “Just like in the fairy tale, the Sleeping Beauty spell puts the victim into a deep slumber. They appear to be dead at first glance, though upon careful study you can see they are breathing.”

 

Fred grinned. “So does that mean Snape had to kiss Dumbledore to wake him up?”

 

Harry choked on his laughter, as did several other people. The idea of Snape kissing anyone…

 

“Hardly,” Snape drawled, showing absolutely no amusement. “I said it was a variation on the spell. When the victim is hit by the spell, he or she doesn’t merely fall to the ground asleep. They are blasted backwards so as to give the appearance the spell is a harmful one. Then the victim falls into their death-like sleep. As I created the spell, I was the only one who could end it, which I simply did with another spell.”

 

“I liked the kissing version better,” Harry heard George whisper to Fred. Harry had to smother a smile.

 

“As you can clearly see, I was completely unharmed by Severus’ spell,” Dumbledore said. “It was unfortunate that he was unable to end it sooner, but as you all already knew, Voldemort sent him on a mission that took a rather long time to complete.” He looked around the room sternly. “There will be no further accusations of betrayal against Severus.”

 

Harry noticed Ron didn’t like that idea—Harry figured he was still stuck on the idea of Snape telling Voldemort they’d be in Diagon Alley that day. To say Harry disliked Snape would be a massive understatement, but he didn’t think he was a traitor. Knowing Snape’s “attack” against Dumbledore was planned pretty much solidified his belief that Snape was indeed still loyal to the Order.

 

“What was the mission?” Remus asked, adroitly moving the group along to a hopefully less volatile topic.

 

“The Dark Lord seeks a way to break through Anti-Disapparition Jinxes,” Snape said.

 

Harry prevented his mouth from falling open just in the nick of time. He looked down to the other end of the table and saw Hermione looking back at him. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who gave him a wink.

 

“He ordered me to find a potion,” Snape continued. “I found something plausible in an old book, and he sent me out to find some rather difficult to acquire ingredients.” He smirked. “He was quite disappointed I was unable to procure all of them.”

 

“Could you really not find them?” Arthur Weasley asked. “That would be a rather handy potion to have.”

 

“No, the potion was never going to be viable anyway.”

 

“Ah, but I have good news regarding that,” Dumbledore announced. “I shall hold it ‘til the end of the meeting, so we are guaranteed to end on a positive note.

 

“Now, I called this meeting because we have two very important issues to discuss.” Dumbledore was finally able to get down to business. “We have a new member of the Order who has been serving a very important role. Several of you already know him, in fact, as he was a student at this school.” He paused, and Harry had to admit Dumbledore knew how to give a dramatic moment some punch. “Our newest member is Draco Malfoy.”

 

Already aware of this information, Harry watched the reactions of the others with great interest. Most people looked absolutely stunned—Harry figured even the people who didn’t know Draco recognised the name Malfoy. The twins were looking at each other as if trying to decide whether or not Dumbledore was joking and even Arthur Weasley—usually even-tempered, at least more so than his wife—looked alarmed.

 

It was Ron and Hermione Harry watched most closely, however. Hermione’s eyes were as wide as he’d ever seen them and she was blinking rapidly, as if trying to process completely incomprehensible information. Her expression was nothing compared to Ron’s, though. Ron had gone pale as a ghost and he was staring at Dumbledore in open-mouthed shock. Harry saw his hand clenching reflexively on his wand on the table.

 

Around the table, initial exclamations turned into demands for more information, and some of the voices sounded rather angry. Harry noted Ron wasn’t the only one with a wand in their hand.

 

Dumbledore held up his hands and eventually everyone settled down. With great seriousness, he told the group of Malfoy’s secret agreement to serve them as a spy, giving them a much briefer version of the story Harry’d heard earlier.

 

The Order didn’t seem to know how to react to this news about Malfoy.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mr Weasley asked. He spoke calmly but Harry could tell he was feeling rather tense.

 

“To protect Draco as much as possible. The less people who knew he was a spy, the safer he was.”

 

“But you said he took the Dark Mark. He’s a Death Eater. How can you be so certain he’s trustworthy?” Kingsley Shacklebolt wanted to know.

 

“He did take the Dark Mark; as I also said, he had no choice. But Draco Malfoy has never been a true Death Eater. He agreed to work for us within days of being Marked.”

 

“He also took an Unbreakable Vow,” Snape added.

 

Tonks looked quite interested by this news. “What exactly did he Vow?”

 

“He swore loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix. He promised to gather all information possible about the Dark Lord, and to never reveal himself to anyone as a spy,” Snape answered.

 

“This should answer your question as to how I am certain he is trustworthy, Kingsley,” Dumbledore said.

 

“Not good enough for me,” Moody said sharply. “‘Promised to gather all information possible.’ That’s rather vague, Dumbledore, and pretty easy to weasel out of. What did he actually accomplish as a spy? I doubt he ever provided us with any useful information.”

 

“Then you’d be quite wrong, Moody,” Snape sneered. “Perhaps you recall the attack on Hogsmeade we thwarted back in November?”

 

“That information came from Malfoy?” Harry asked. “I thought it was from you.”

 

“This is what you were led to believe in order to keep Malfoy’s status as a spy a secret. But the information did indeed come from him. And at great personal risk, I might add.”

 

“Explain,” Moody demanded.

 

Snape’s patience was obviously stretching thin, not that he had that much to begin with. Dumbledore stepped in.

 

“The usual arrangement was for Draco to pass any information he had to Severus whenever Severus was called to a gathering of the Death Eaters. Severus would then report to me. Draco learned of the planned attack on Hogsmeade only hours before it was to occur, and he knew he wouldn’t see Severus in time. So he sent me his Patronus. Due to the fact Patronus messages cannot be very long, he couldn’t provide me with many details, only when and where the attack was occurring and how many Death Eaters would be involved. It was sufficient. Had he been caught sending that Patronus, he would have surely been killed.”

 

“A lot of people were saved when we stopped that attack from happening,” Hermione said slowly.

 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed. “Those people owe their lives to Draco Malfoy.”

 

“There’s still no guarantee he wasn’t spying on us and taking information back to He Who Must Not Be Named,” Moody persisted. His good eye regarded Snape suspiciously—apparently Moody seemed to think this was the sort of thing Snape was likely to do.

 

Harry wanted to throttle the paranoid old man. He may have been a great Dark wizard catcher in his time, but his overly suspicious nature was driving Harry crazy.

 

It was apparently driving Snape crazy, too. “Not that he would have ever done so due to the Vow, but what possible information could he have passed on? He had no access to the Order. He was at home all summer and then only returned to school for a little over a month before the Dark Lord forced him to leave. The rest of the time he has been at home in Wiltshire. How could he have possibly known anything to tell the Dark Lord?” Snape asked impatiently.

Moody didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. For once, Harry was glad to see Snape take someone down a peg.

 

“As it seems we are ready to move on to our second order of business, I believe it is time for our newest member to join us.” Before anyone could object, Dumbledore waved his wand at the door. After a brief hesitation, Draco walked in.

 

“Dumbledore!” Moody jumped up. He wasn’t the only one; a few other people did as well, wands in hand. “You’re letting him join this meeting?”

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said firmly. “He has earned my trust by his Vow and his actions, and he should have your trust as well.”

 

Draco kept his back straight and his head held high as he slowly walked into the room while Dumbledore and Moody went back-and-forth a little longer. Draco was a Malfoy—he wasn’t going to let these people cow him no matter what they thought of him. Snape gestured him to a chair near the head of the table. Draco would have preferred to sit in the back, but he took the seat Snape offered.

 

“I still don’t trust him,” Moody finally muttered, apparently giving in for the moment.

 

Harry’d had enough. He stood up and slapped his palms on the table. “Does the fact that he risked his life to rescue me mean nothing to you? It sure as hell means a lot to me!”

 

The room fell silent as Harry stared Moody down.

 

“Of course it means something, boy,” Moody said grudgingly.

 

“Then give him the credit for it. He deserves it. If he hadn’t gotten me out of there when he did, I’d be dead by now. Even if Voldemort hadn’t killed me outright, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer undergoing the torture I was being put through day after day, hour after hour.” Harry paused for much-needed breath. “He saved my life, and he didn’t have to. I’ll be eternally grateful to him for that.”

 

He glanced at Draco, who was looking a bit stunned by Harry’s impassioned speech. “We’ve been told what he’s been doing for the Order the past several months. We’ve been told about the Vow. Add in the fact he saved my damn life, and I think he’s proven himself to be fairly trustworthy.” He looked at Draco again. “He’s certainly earned my trust.”

 

Harry sat back down. His hands were shaking, so he clenched them together under the table. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was so worked up, or because he’d publically addressed the fact that he’d been tortured. It was probably a bit of both.

 

“Well said, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 

 

After a long silence, Remus finally spoke up.

 

“I believe I’ve heard enough to trust Draco.” There were murmurs of agreement across the room.

 

Remus nodded to Draco. “Thank you again for rescuing Harry.”

 

Still looking a bit astonished, Draco simply nodded back at him.

 

“As to the second order of business,” Dumbledore said again firmly. “We need to discuss Harry’s abduction. From what I have gathered from those of you who were there when he was taken, it seemed the Death Eaters were specifically looking for him and knew where Harry would be.

 

“It is possible the Death Eaters knew Harry would be in Diagon Alley that day. What we need to try and determine is how they knew that.” He looked around at the people who had been involved in that fateful trip—the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. “Was the excursion to Diagon Alley planned in advance?”

 

“Sort of,” Harry said slowly. “We talked about going a day or two after Christmas.”

 

“When?” Snape wanted to know.

 

“Well, we discussed it at dinner the night before,” Hermione said.

 

“Who was there?” Remus asked.

 

“Just the family, Hermione, and Harry,” Molly said.

 

“Some of us talked about it at the Boxing Day party at the Burrow,” Harry remembered. “There were loads of people in and out all day at the Weasleys’. Anyone could have overheard us talking about the idea of maybe going to Diagon Alley for a little shopping one day during the school break.”

 

Fred and George looked at each other. “I think I mentioned to a couple of people that my brother and his friends might be coming by the shop at some point during the week,” Fred said, looking chagrined.

 

Everyone in the room took some time to think this over. At last Snape said, “If someone was aware you had tentative plans to visit Diagon Alley at some point, the Dark Lord may have had people ready to attack at a moment’s notice. He could have had people posted to keep a lookout for Potter. Like some of the others, I myself was not called until after the attack had been launched.”

 

“Some of us have been talking,” Ron said. “Is it possible You-Know-Who always has people posted as lookouts for Harry in places like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade?”

 

Murmuring went around the room as people considered this.

 

“If he does, I am unaware of it. However, it is possible,” Snape said slowly. “I don’t think it could be managed on a permanent basis. The Dark Lord would have to have people ready to attack at any given moment all the time and that’s not feasible. His Death Eaters do have lives. But for specific scheduled times…it is possible. He could make a prediction as to where Potter might turn up over the holidays and post people there at specific times—and have the Death Eaters ready for an attack at those times, just as I posited earlier regarding the possibility of someone overhearing your plans to visit Diagon Alley in the near future.”

 

“Harry, do you remember anything of the attack that might provide us with some insight?” Dumbledore asked.

 

Harry shook his head. “We were standing around trying to decide whether to go have a bite to eat or shop awhile when Death Eaters Apparated in all over the place. We scattered, and I defended myself against one or two spells before I was hit in the back with the Disarming spell and lost my wand. I don’t remember anything after that.”

 

“Then we may never know for certain how it is the Death Eaters knew to find you there, Harry. We will continue to work on keeping you safe, so we’ll leave it at that for now.

 

“As I promised, there is a bit of good news,” Dumbledore continued. “Severus told us of Tom’s desire for a way to break through Anti-Disapparition Jinxes. While this would be very bad for us if he found a way, it would be very _good_ for us to have a way to do it ourselves.

 

“And now we do.”

 

After that dramatic statement, he fell silent.

 

“Well, what is it?” Tonks asked impatiently, clearly dying to know.

 

“I believe the floor is yours, Mr Malfoy.” Dumbledore sat down and looked at Draco.

 

At least he’d been warned about this part, Draco thought.

 

He reached under his robes and pulled out a round, silver metal circle. He enlarged it to its full size.

 

“This is an Apparition Hoop,” he said. “I invented it.”

 

“You invented it?” George broke in. “You’re an inventor, Malfoy?”

 

“We’re always looking for good employees,” Fred added.

 

Draco was unsure of what to make of them. He’d never been sure what to make of the Weasley twins when they’d been at Hogwarts. He found them to be both annoying and hilarious.

 

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I invented it.” He went on to explain how the Hoop worked, adding in how he’d used it to rescue Harry. It couldn’t hurt to emphasise how he’d saved their Chosen One with these people.

 

“That’s very clever,” Remus said admiringly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Draco has agreed to work on making more of these Apparition Hoops for us. It took him some time to create this one, so he isn’t sure how long it will take for him to duplicate it, but it is something he will be working on,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you, Draco.”

 

Draco inclined his head and sat down.

 

Dumbledore concluded the meeting and people began to break into little groups, obviously re-hashing everything that had happened in the past hour.

 

Harry looked around for Ron and Hermione. As much as he wanted to get things sorted with Ron, he really wasn’t in the mood for any more drama and half-wished he could put off talking to them until the morning. He was also rather tired. He hoped he’d get over this dragging fatigue that plagued him soon.

 

He started walking over to where he saw Hermione and Ron standing by the door. Professor Dumbledore waylaid him.

 

“Harry, I’m afraid I need a few more minutes of your time.”

 

“Well, I told Hermione and Ron I’d talk to them after the meeting. It’s sort of important.”

 

“I’m sure it is, and I hate to impose, but if you could perhaps put them off for a bit? Perhaps until tomorrow?”

 

Harry sighed inwardly. Well, it looked like he’d gotten his half-hearted wish to postpone talking to Ron.

 

“Of course,” Harry said. “Let me just tell them.”

 

“Thank you, Harry. You can meet me in my office.”

 

Harry continued walking over to his friends.

 

“What did Professor Dumbledore want?” Hermione asked.

 

“He said he needs to talk to me about something, and he wants to talk now. I told him I had plans with you but…you know how he is. And I think it might take a while since he suggested I see you guys tomorrow.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking disappointed. Ron looked a little relieved.

 

“Well, shall we come by around ten?”

 

“That would be great. Sorry about this. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

 

Hermione hugged him goodbye and they left. ‘At least Ron didn’t look like he wants to kill me anymore,’ Harry thought as he headed to Dumbledore’s office.

 

Once Harry had arrived and accepted the offer of tea, the Headmaster looked at him seriously.

 

“I have a great favour to ask of you, Harry, one I am not sure you will be eager to grant me.”

 

Harry looked at the old wizard warily. “What is it?”

 

“I want you to befriend Mr Malfoy.”

 

“Befriend Malfoy?” Harry repeated blankly. “I really don’t think Malfoy wants to be my friend.”

 

“But he needs a friend. Draco has left behind his own friends, his family, his home, his family’s wealth, everything he has ever known. You and I can only imagine how difficult that must be.”

 

Harry thought about that. He supposed it would be very difficult to do. He hadn’t thought much about Malfoy’s situation. He had risked a lot—including his own life—when he’d agreed to be a spy for the Order, with no guarantee as to how things would turn out for him. Then it hit him: Malfoy really had left _everything_ when he’d secreted Harry out of his prison. His parents. His home. His possessions. As far as Harry knew, Draco had only the clothes on his back.

 

Stunned by this realisation, Harry sat back. Malfoy hadn’t just saved his life—he’d given up everything in order to do it. He owed Malfoy more than he could ever repay.

 

“I also believe, that with some encouragement, Draco’s knowledge and skills can be of great benefit to the Order,” Dumbledore continued. “He is a bright young man and has already invented something no one else has managed to do since Anti-Disapparition Jinxes were created. Right now he is operating in survival mode. He is doing just what he has to in order to get by. I think he can do so much more.”

 

“And you think if I’m nice to him and make friends, he’ll do more for the Order?” Harry asked sceptically. He wouldn’t blame Malfoy if he decided he’d done more than enough by saving him.

 

“I do. Draco Malfoy is unused to having someone stand up for him the way you did tonight. I know you surprised him. You have long been rivals as students, but you are adults now. You are on the same side. Draco’s life is in upheaval right now, and the course of his future may be determined by how things go for him during the next few months.

 

“You can help him, Harry. He needs someone like you, a peer in high standing within his own community, to help redeem him in the eyes of that community and in his own eyes. He does not need to feel alone and isolated as he does now and has for quite some time. He needs a positive influence after spending several months with Death Eaters, not to mention growing up as Lucius’ son. I believe you can be that positive influence.”

 

Harry considered this. Was there more Malfoy could do to help the Order? He supposed Malfoy was intelligent enough. He’d certainly always bragged about doing well in his classes. Of course, Hermione was smarter than him, but she was cleverer than pretty much everyone.

 

But a positive influence? Could he really be a positive influence on Malfoy? Harry didn’t think he had much influence at all, much less with Malfoy. It was more likely he and Malfoy would continue to rub each other the wrong way and whatever influence he may have on him would be negative.

 

Harry sighed inwardly. Dumbledore had made a good point about Malfoy being able to contribute more to the Order and the war effort. One of the things that bothered Harry most about Malfoy is that he really didn’t seem like he was one hundred per cent on their side. Knowing Malfoy, the only side he was on one hundred per cent was his own. But if he could convince Malfoy to lean a bit more strongly in the direction of firmly supporting the Order, it could definitely be beneficial—not only for the Order, but as Dumbledore said, for Malfoy, too.

 

He had to admit he’d already been a little friendly with Malfoy and had surprised himself by actually enjoying the time he spent with him. That had been a one-time thing, but perhaps it could happen again. It would take massive amounts of patience, and very thick skin, to be Malfoy’s friend, but surprisingly, Harry felt he was up to the challenge.

 

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll try. I can’t promise to work any miracles, which is what it might take for Malfoy and me to get along, but I’ll try my best. I owe him my life; the least I can do is try to be friends with him.” Then he dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “Oh, Merlin, what is Ron going to say?”

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Ah, yes. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy’s ill will toward each other stretches back past your own generation. I don’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position with your friends, Harry. I know they are very important to you. I hope this favour I’m asking you will not cause too much trouble between you.”

 

“Ron’s already mad at me,” Harry said. “He may never speak to me again if I start hanging around with Malfoy.”

 

“I have faith that, in time, Ron Weasley will come around, especially if you are successful in being that good influence on Draco.”

 

“I sure hope so,” Harry muttered.

 

“Perhaps your respite from having to talk to him tonight when you were tired will put you both in a more positive frame of mind.”

 

Harry regarded Dumbledore suspiciously. Had he known he’d wanted to put off talking to Ron and deliberately provided a way for him to do so?

 

“You can always use the fact Draco was instrumental in saving your life as a way to convince your friends to give you some leeway in your dealings with Draco,” Dumbledore added.

 

“True,” Harry considered. “But I’d say he was a bit more than ‘instrumental’ in saving me—he did it all by himself.”

 

“While I would never belittle Mr Malfoy’s accomplishment in rescuing you, Harry, I must point out that you deserve a little credit for saving your own life as well.”

 

“I didn’t do anything; I couldn’t. I was chained to a wall.”

 

“You kept yourself alive by withstanding what I know to have been extreme torture, Harry. You kept yourself alive by refusing to tell Tom what he wanted to know. I think you did a lot to save yourself.”

 

Harry was a bit taken aback by Dumbledore’s assessment. “I…I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

 

“I know you haven’t, and being who you are, you likely wouldn’t, which I why I felt it appropriate to point it out to you,” Dumbledore said, smiling a bit knowingly. “Now, I have kept you long enough. I suspect you must be very tired, and I will likely be scolded by Poppy for keeping you so long.” He stood up. “Good night, Harry.”

 

“Good night, Professor,” Harry said and took his leave, thinking hard about everything Dumbledore had said about Malfoy—and himself.  


 

*****

 

 

When Harry got up next day, he resolved to begin Operation Befriend Malfoy right away. As he dressed, he cast about for ideas for topics of conversation. Family was out. Harry hated talking about his own so-called family, and Malfoy had just left his. Then there was the fact that Lucius Malfoy had tried to kill Harry in addition to torturing him. No, family was not a good topic to start off with. Friends were out as well, seeing as they had none in common. He could discuss the meeting. That would be all right, and Malfoy seemed most comfortable discussing “business” with him. Perhaps he could mention Malfoy’s invention and get him talking about that.

 

When Madam Pomfrey brought him his breakfast tray, he asked for a second one for Malfoy and levitated them down the corridor to Malfoy’s room.

 

“Good morning, Malfoy,” he said cheerfully when Malfoy opened the door in response to his knock. “I brought you some breakfast.”

 

Malfoy lifted a brow. “Decided to become a house-elf in your spare time?”

 

“Nope, just decided I’d like some company for breakfast and figured you’d be as good as any.” With that, Harry brushed by Malfoy and into the room. He figured if he waited for an invitation, he’d be waiting for a very long time.

 

“Come right in, Potter, make yourself at home,” Draco said sarcastically.

 

“Thanks, I will.” Harry set the trays down on the small table and took a seat. Draco remained standing in the doorway, staring at him.

 

“C’mon, Malfoy, you must be hungry. I know I am. Come eat.”

 

Malfoy shut the door and slowly walked to the table. He studied Harry for a moment and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. He sat down at the table and poured himself some tea. He watched Harry as he slowly stirred in sugar.

 

“Why are you here, Potter?”

 

“I told you, I don’t like to eat alone and thought you might like a bit of company as well.”

 

“Why are you _really_ here?”

 

Harry sighed. Right down to business then. Perhaps a bit of honesty. Direct honesty seemed to throw the Slytherin off balance.

 

“I know for a fact you’re an ally now. You saved my life, which has created a bit of a bond between us—” Malfoy’s face twisted—“whether you want to acknowledge it or not. You _know_ what I went through down there; no one else can really understand it the way you do. We’re not silly children any more spending time plotting ways to play dirty tricks on each other. I thought perhaps we might get to know each other a bit better, that’s all.”

 

It appeared Harry’s strategy of being completely blunt had worked as Malfoy considered this for a while as he ate. Harry dug into his eggs and waited.

 

Draco certainly hadn’t expected this, and it caught him off guard. Sure, Potter had been strangely friendly that one day in the infirmary, but Draco had brushed it aside as a one-time abnormality. He suspected Potter was up to something, but he couldn’t think of what it might be right this minute, and the man wasn’t exactly known for his guile. He really didn’t have much interest in being pals with Potter, but perhaps developing a…cordial working relationship would benefit him. He had a feeling he was going to be seeing a lot of Potter. If nothing else, maybe Potter would defend him from the weasel until he got his wand back.

 

“All right,” he finally agreed.

 

“Good!” Harry said cheerfully. “Tell me, what did you think of your first Order meeting?”

 

“I got the feeling it wasn’t a typical meeting.”

 

It must be a Slytherin trait never to answer a question directly, Harry decided. “No, it wasn’t. Usually we discuss what’s been happening in the war lately, talk about strategy for fighting back, especially if Snape has brought us any information. We aren’t usually being introduced to new spies and talking about abductions.”

 

“I’m curious as to what happened in the meeting before I came in. Dumbledore thought it best I not be in the room while he explained how I’d been working for you lot without you even knowing it.”

 

“That was probably a good idea,” Harry admitted. “It got a bit…heated, especially with Moody. Let’s see, what all did you miss? First, we had to get past the part that Snape had cursed Dumbledore. The Headmaster explained it had all been planned. Do you know about that?”

 

“Yes, Snape told me.”

 

“Well, it took a bit of convincing, but I think they all accepted it and trust Snape as much as they ever did. Then we talked about his mission and the Anti-Disapparition potion Voldemort—” He stopped when Draco winced upon hearing the name.

 

“You’ll have to get used to hearing that,” Harry said seriously. “You might as well get used to saying it. Continuing to call him ‘the Dark Lord’ is only going to make people suspicious of you.”

 

“It’s habit to avoid that name. He’s been referred to as the Dark Lord my entire life. No one calls him…Voldemort.”

 

Harry was mildly impressed Draco was able to say the name without stuttering the way most other people did when they attempted it. “I do. Some of the others do as well, though many still use one of those stupid substitutes.”

 

“I’ll try,” was all Draco could commit to.

 

“Anyway, when Snape said he’d been sent to find a way to get through the wards, I about fell out of my chair. I knew you had already figured out a way to do it. Dumbledore wanted to save that bit of news ‘til last, as you know.

 

“Then he explained about you. There was general disbelief, and Moody flat out didn’t believe you were on our side and involved in espionage.” He paused. “Snape and Dumbledore told us about how you sent that message about the planned attack on Hogsmeade. I think that swayed some people into believing you were a legitimate spy.” He hesitated before adding, “It was very brave of you.”

 

Draco wasn’t used to being called brave and didn’t think he particularly was. He’d been flat out terrified when he sent his Patronus, so terrified he’d had tremendous difficulty calling up a happy memory. He’d thought for certain he’d be caught and _Crucio_ -ed to death.

 

“It wasn’t bravery, it was duty.”

 

“Were you scared?” Harry asked softly. “I would have been.”

 

“I was scared shitless, Potter. I was betraying the Dark—my supposed master right under his nose.”

 

“That’s what bravery is, Malfoy. Doing something dangerous that has to be done even though you’re scared to death—especially if your own life is at risk.”

 

Draco considered this. If that was Potter’s definition of bravery, he supposed he had been brave.

 

“Was it really nothing more than duty?” Harry asked, a bit more perceptively than Draco was comfortable with. But perhaps it was time to take a leap of faith.

 

Harry noted the slight squaring of Malfoy’s shoulders and knew he was about to hear something important.

 

“No, it wasn’t only duty. I’m tired of this war, and I want it over with. I also didn’t want having the murder of innocent people on my conscience if I did nothing to stop it.”

 

Harry smirked a little and spoke before he thought better of it. “Didn’t know you had a conscience, Malfoy.”

 

“Funny, Potter. As you’ve told me regarding yourself, I’m not quite the person you think I am either. I do have a conscience. It’s been bothering me a lot since I was made to take the Dark Mark.”

  
“I imagine it has,” Harry said contritely. “Were you forced to do a lot of horrible things as a Death Eater?”

 

Draco stiffened. “That’s a conversation for another day. If ever.”

 

Harry nodded. He wasn’t going to push. He suspected Malfoy had been required to do any number of…distasteful things while playing his role.

 

Thinking a switch to a lighter subject would be best, Harry said, “So tell me more about your love life, Malfoy.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes as he crunched into a rasher of crispy bacon. “You have an abnormal interest in my personal life. Or are you this nosy with everyone?”

 

“No, I’m not usually overly nosy. Then again, living in close quarters with my friends at school, everyone pretty much knows most of what’s going on with everyone else anyway. It’s rather difficult keeping secrets in such an environment.” He smiled. “But I know next to nothing about Slytherins, so I’m curious.”

 

“So all the Gryffindors know you’re gay? Or bisexual or whatever?”

 

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “No. People know I was with Ginny, of course, and I imagine they at least suspect we were having sex. We did do a lot of sneaking off together. And I suppose I dated Cho Chang briefly. But I’ve never dated a boy here at Hogwarts, as you know, so it hasn’t come up.”

 

“I’m sure something came up,” Draco smirked and then could have bitten his tongue. He was getting too comfortable with Potter if he was saying such things.

 

Potter just laughed appreciatively though. “True enough. I only saw that bloke for a short time, but that time is rather memorable for that very reason.”

 

It still surprised Draco that Potter wasn’t a blushing virgin. It was even more surprising that he seemed to have no bashfulness at all when it came to discussing sex.

 

“I’m still curious to know about you,” Harry reminded him. “Have you had sex?”

 

“That’s a rather personal question, Potter.”

 

“I’m just dying to know your deepest, darkest secrets, Malfoy,” he said, with an exaggeratedly winning smile. “You’re a bit of a mystery to me.”

 

Draco had to agree with the mystery part when it came to himself with Potter as well. But seeing as how he wasn’t bashful about sex either, he said, “Yes, I’ve had sex.”

 

“With who?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Every girl in Slytherin,” he said sarcastically.

 

“Wow, you really get around,” Harry snickered. “I would have never guessed you were such a man-slut.”

 

Draco choked on his tea. “A what?”

 

“A man-slut. You know, a bloke who sleeps with anything on two legs.”

 

Draco’s lips twitched despite himself. “That’s a good one.”

 

“Seeing as you’re such a man-slut, have you ever slept with a boy?”

 

Draco lifted his brows and damned Potter for the question. Draco would never admit it, but he’d had some rather lusty thoughts about men far more than once. One of his favourite fantasies for wank material was about a man. But he could answer Potter honestly.

 

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not a man-slut.”

 

“How many girls have you slept with then?”

 

“We seem to be in a tie concerning the number of our sexual partners, Potter.”

 

“Two then. You won’t tell me who they are? I’m betting Parkinson was one of them.”

 

Draco didn’t deny it. She’d been his first, and it had been awkward and fumbling. He’d gotten off, of course, and they’d done it a few more times, but it had never been anything more than just getting laid. Pansy wasn’t very exciting in bed. He’d had a lot more fun with Daphne Greengrass.

 

“You never told me the name of the Muggle you shagged,” Draco countered.

 

“Well, it’s not like you could possibly know him,” Harry reasoned as he bit into his marmalade-laden toast. Then he winked. “I called him Big Ben.”

 

Draco couldn’t help himself; he laughed.

 

Harry laughed too. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you really laugh before.”

 

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco returned dryly, rolling his eyes.

 

Harry cast a quick _Tempus_ with his wand. “Shite, I’ve got to be going. Hermione and Ron are coming at ten.”

 

Standing, he added, “I don’t think it would be wise for me to tell them I was late because I was eating breakfast with you.”

 

“Ashamed of me, Potter?” Draco drawled.

 

“No, but I’m already in trouble with Ron, and he’s not exactly your biggest fan,” Harry retorted.

 

Draco held up his hands. “I was only joking, Potter. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry apologised, realising Malfoy had indeed been only joking. It simply wasn’t something he was used to, so he supposed he could be forgiven for not recognising it. “Anyway, see you later.”

 

“If I must.”

 

Laughing, and pleased with the way his first attempt at establishing a friendly relationship with Malfoy had gone, Harry left and went back to the infirmary.

 

He was just in the nick of time, too. Ron and Hermione came in less than five minutes later. After some awkward greetings Harry suggested they take their conversation to the Charms classroom down the corridor for a bit of privacy.

 

Closing the door behind them, Harry turned to face his friends. He had no idea what to say.

 

But someone had to start, and it didn’t look like it was going to be Ron. Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “I know you’re angry with me, and I reckon you have a right to be. I’m sorry I hurt you by what I did. But if you’re going to be angry with me, be angry with me for that. Not for thinking I was choosing Snape over you. I wasn’t.”

 

Ron just looked at Harry for a moment. “I’m not angry with you for that. At least, not any more.” He glanced at Hermione, and Harry figured he owed her for that.

 

“But I am still a bit pissed off that you used magic against me. That wasn’t necessary, and it wasn’t right.”

 

Harry sighed. He didn’t agree with Ron, but didn’t want to say that and antagonise his friend. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

“You could have tried talking to me,” Ron snapped.

 

Harry bit his tongue to keep from snapping back that he _had_ tried to talk to him, but the hot-headed git had refused to listen to reason.

 

“I guess I could have talked to you more,” Harry allowed, hoping to placate Ron. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to work as Ron relaxed a little.

 

“So are we good now?” Harry asked hopefully.

 

Ron rubbed his chin as he again looked to Hermione.

 

“We were both a little surprised at the way you…took charge that day,” Hermione said cautiously. “You were much more forceful than we’re used to seeing you.”

 

“I’ve been forceful before,” Harry denied. “I’ve had to be to get the Order to let me do anything at all, especially before I was seventeen.”

 

“But not like you were two days ago,” Hermione said.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“I want to know why you thought you had the right to make the decision about Dumbledore all by yourself,” Ron said.

 

“I didn’t make it all by myself,” Harry denied again. “McGonagall and Hermione agreed with me. I would have never been successful if McGonagall had objected. I just sort of…moved the issue along a bit more quickly.”

 

“You mean you completely took control of the situation,” Hermione said wryly. “That’s what I meant about being forceful.”

 

Harry lifted a shoulder. “If you say so.”

 

“I don’t have a problem with you standing up for what you believe is right, Harry,” Hermione said quickly. “Neither does Ron. It was just that…”

 

“Ron and I believed different things in that situation,” Harry finished. “I understand.”

 

This conversation was making him a bit uncomfortable, and he wanted it over. “So now are we good?”

 

“I reckon,” Ron said. Hermione just nodded.

 

“Excellent,” Harry said definitely. He figured there’d probably be a bit more awkwardness for a while, but he was immensely happy to have the problem solved.

 

“Do you really trust Malfoy?” Ron asked abruptly.

 

Harry sighed inwardly. It looked like the uncomfortable discussion wasn’t over yet after all. Hermione shot Ron a look that said she couldn’t believe he’d brought up such a sensitive subject.

 

“I want to know,” Ron insisted. “No use pussy-footing around it.”

 

Harry supposed Ron had a good point.

 

“Yes, I do trust him,” he said slowly. “For all of the reasons I said last night. I’ll ask you the same thing I asked Moody: is the fact that Malfoy saved my life so unimportant you won’t consider it a good reason to trust him?”

 

“Of course not,” Ron said hotly. “It’s hard to believe I’m saying this, but I’m rather thankful to the little ferret for that. It’s just…”

 

“It’s hard to put aside everything Malfoy’s done to us in the past,” Hermione concluded for him.

 

“He’s been a fucking prick to all of us,” Ron said flatly. Hermione frowned at him in disapproval of his language, but Ron and Harry ignored her.

 

“I know that!” Harry said. “I never said I’d forgiven him for that. I’m well aware he can be a bloody arsehole.”

 

“But you stood up for him last night,” Ron said, confused.

 

“I stood up for my _ally_ ,” Harry clarified. “Not for Malfoy personally.” Though that wasn’t entirely true.

 

“Oh.” Ron said. “I guess I can see the difference.”

 

“Good,” Harry said. He wondered if he should tell them about Dumbledore’s request for him to befriend Malfoy. Harry had debated this carefully last night but hadn’t come to a firm decision. Well, since they were apparently getting everything out into the open, it might be best to tell them now, so he couldn’t be accused later of keeping secrets. If he were going to try to be friendly to Malfoy, they’d surely notice at some point.

 

“I’m going to tell you something you’re not going to like,” Harry warned his two friends. “Dumbledore asked me to be nice to Malfoy. That’s what he wanted to talk to me about last night.”

 

Ron looked gobsmacked. “Be _nice_ to him? You told him no, right?”

 

Harry grimaced. “I told him I’d try.” He sighed. “He did save my life. I at least owe him common courtesy.”

 

Ron stared at him a moment and then snorted. “Courtesy is one thing—being nice is another. Surely Dumbledore knows the two of you will never get along. Why on earth would he even ask you to?”

 

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. He’d understood Dumbledore’s logic last night, but he doubted Ron would.

 

“He said something about getting Malfoy to do more for the Order,” he said at last. “He thinks that with some encouragement, he could be useful.”

 

“Like how?” Hermione asked.

 

“Like with making more of those Apparition Hoops.” Harry waved a hand vaguely as he pulled some ideas out of his arse. “Maybe he could help the twins with inventing other things. Who knows, he might be willing to brew us some potions, we know he’s good at that.”

 

Ron considered this carefully, and Harry felt a little hopeful.

 

“It is good strategy to take advantage of whatever skills Malfoy might have,” he admitted slowly. “I wouldn’t have thought he had any, but if he really invented that hoop thing…”

 

Good, this was good, Harry thought. Ron wasn’t flying off the handle. He took a step further into the minefield.

“I got the impression Dumbledore didn’t fancy the idea of us fighting with Malfoy all the time.” Dumbledore hadn’t said anything like that, but Harry was sure he’d be happy if they didn’t. “And I agree with him. We’re at war. We don’t need any division within the Order.”

 

“I agree,” Hermione said right away. When Ron looked at her, she added, “I’m willing to try to be civil if Malfoy is. If he continues to insult us and pick fights, that’s another story. But I don’t think he will.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Malfoy needs us,” Harry explained. “He has nowhere else to go. He gave up everything when he rescued me. He abandoned and betrayed his father and Voldemort, and we know that neither of them is forgiving of that sort of thing. I agree with Hermione; I don’t think he’ll be doing anything to stir up trouble.”

 

“All right,” Ron said grudgingly. “I won’t start anything with the ferret either.”

 

“Perhaps you should start by not calling him the ferret,” Harry said dryly. “At least not to his face.”

 

“Only if he doesn’t call me a weasel—or Hermione a Mudblood,” Ron retorted.

 

“I already spoke to him about that,” Harry said calmly. “I told him I wouldn’t tolerate name-calling.”

 

“Good,” Hermione said.

 

After that, the conversation turned to lighter matters, and things started to feel a bit more normal to Harry.

 

Eventually, Hermione brought up Harry’s living arrangements.

 

“When are you going to be released from the infirmary, Harry? You will be coming back to the Weasleys’, won’t you?”

 

“I assume so. I imagine I’ll be released pretty soon—maybe I can convince Madam Pomfrey to let me out today.”

 

“Great! You should go ask her now. Then you could come home with us,” Ron suggested.

 

“Good idea,” Harry agreed.

 

They trooped off to the infirmary and hunted up the matron.

 

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry started, “I was wondering if I could be released today. I’m feeling basically back to normal.”

 

“If you pass one more examination, I will let you go,” Pomfrey said. “Come with me.”

 

She drew the curtain around Harry’s bed for some privacy and ran her scans.

 

“You’re still a bit underweight, but I imagine Molly Weasley’s cooking will solve that problem,” she said, smiling. “You are free to go. If you have any problems at all though, I want to know about it straightaway.”

 

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

 

“You’re quite welcome. Now, off you go.”

 

Harry went off to tell Hermione and Ron the good news. After he did, he gathered up the clothes and things Hermione had brought for him from the Weasleys’ for him to use while he was in the infirmary.

 

“Let’s go,” Ron said cheerfully. “I’m hungry.”

 

“You’re always hungry, Ron,” Hermione teased.

 

The threesome bantered in a friendly way as they made their way to Dumbledore’s office to Floo to the Burrow.

 

Dumbledore threw a spanner in the works, though, when it came to Harry’s plan to go to the Weasleys’.

 

“I’m afraid you won’t be going back to the Weasleys’, Harry,” he said. “We’ve long known Tom wanted you, but the fact he successfully captured you requires you to stay somewhere better protected. It will be safer for the Weasleys as well when Voldemort is told you aren’t staying with them.”

 

“You mean I have to stay here?” Harry asked, disappointed.

 

“No, Tom would expect to find you here, and he has already tried to attack Hogsmeade in an effort to take over Hogwarts. Having you here would only increase his desire to have Hogwarts. The safest place for you is number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

 

Harry groaned. “I hate that house. It’s so…depressing. And it reminds me of Sirius too much.” Just saying Sirius’ name made Harry’s heart twinge.

 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore said sympathetically. “I know it an unhappy place for you. But there is no other alternative. Grimmauld Place is Unplottable, inaccessible to all but the Order, and will provide you with the best protection.”

 

“I suppose I won’t be allowed out, either,” Harry groused.

 

“No, but your friends may visit you as often as you wish. And various Order members will be in and out. I’m not sure you know this, but Remus Lupin is staying there now.”

 

“He is?” Harry brightened a little. “Well, at least I won’t be there all alone.”

 

“No, you won’t. With your permission, Draco Malfoy will also be residing at Grimmauld Place.”

 

Harry thought it was a good thing he’d already told Ron and Hermione about Dumbledore’s request for him to make friends with Malfoy because Ron’s jaw dropped open in shock. Well, he hadn’t actually told them Dumbledore wanted him to be _friends_ ; he’d led them to believe he only planned to be a little nicer to Malfoy.

 

“But Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said, obviously planning to argue on Harry’s behalf. Harry was quite certain that Ron was not only thinking of Harry’s wellbeing but of having to deal with Malfoy every time he himself came to Grimmauld Place.

 

“I’m sorry, Ron, but it is the safest place for Mr Malfoy as well. I imagine he has quite the price on his head. He is a member of the Order and must be protected. As long as Harry agrees to having Draco as a guest in his home, it is the best place for him.”

 

“I guess,” Ron grumbled.

 

It took a moment for it to dawn on Harry that Dumbledore was asking Harry’s permission for Malfoy to stay at Grimmauld Place because Harry owned the house. He always forgot the property was actually his.

 

“Um, well, I guess it’s all right. If you think it’s safest for him there…I reckon we can figure out a way to manage living in the same house.”

 

“I am sure you will all find a way to get along,” Dumbledore said blithely. “Harry, let me just fire-call Remus to let him know you are on your way.”

 

He stepped over to the fireplace.

 

“That’s some serious bad luck, mate,” Ron lamented. “How are you going to stand living with the ferret?”

 

“You agreed not to call him that anymore,” Harry reminded him. “And I’ll survive. The house is big enough I can avoid him if he gets to be too big of a prat.” Harry grinned. “And big enough that he can make himself scarce when you two come over.”

 

Ron smiled wryly.

 

“Time to go, Harry,” Dumbledore called.

 

“Bye guys, see you later. Keep in touch, all right?”

 

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, hugging Harry.

 

“Later, mate.”

 

Harry gingerly stepped into the Floo and whirled away. He hated Floo travel.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

 

 

Malfoy arrived at Grimmauld Place in time for dinner. Molly Weasley had been over before he arrived, bringing all of Harry’s things from the Burrow and a fully prepared “welcome home” dinner for Harry. She’d even brought him treacle tart for afters. She’d fussed over Harry for quite a while, and he’d let her. She was a kind of surrogate mum to him, after all. Molly was a bit concerned about Malfoy and Harry living in the same house, as she knew they didn’t get along, but Remus assured her he’d play peacemaker if necessary.

 

After she’d left, Remus had asked Harry if he should expect playing peacemaker to be a full-time job. Harry assured him it wouldn’t be and explained about his conversation with Dumbledore. Remus had seemed rather proud of Harry for being willing to try and befriend Malfoy—but then he’d smiled wryly and wished Harry good luck.

 

Dinner was a rather quiet affair, with Remus and Harry doing most of the talking. After they’d cleaned up (with Malfoy helping rather reluctantly), Malfoy asked which room was his to use. He’d showed up with two trunks Harry imagined he’d gotten from the Slytherin dorm and was apparently anxious to get settled in.

 

“My bedroom’s on the second floor,” Harry said. “There are several bedrooms on the third floor. Why don’t you just pick one? Remus, you’re staying in Sirius’ old room on the top floor as usual, right?”

 

“Yes, but aren’t you staying on the third floor, Harry? That’s where the master suite is located.”

 

Harry looked surprised by Remus’ comment.

 

“Why would Potter take the master suite?” Draco wanted to know.

 

“Because he’s the owner of this house,” Remus explained.

 

Draco gave Harry an appraising look. “How on earth did you come to be the owner of this house?”

 

“My godfather was Sirius Black, your cousin. When he died, he left it to me,” Harry explained, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.

 

“Sirius Black was your godfather?” Draco asked, stunned. “The escaped Azkaban prisoner? My cousin?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said shortly. “And he was falsely imprisoned. He was best friends with my father.”

 

“I…see,” Draco said slowly. He was dying to get the rest of this story.

 

“So will you be taking the master suite, Harry?” Remus asked.

 

“Well…I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess I will,” Harry said.

 

Harry and Draco gathered their things and took them to the third floor. While Draco inspected the other rooms, Harry looked around the master bedroom. It was quite spacious, and one would never know Buckbeak had once lived there. It had taken quite a bit of work to get this room back to being habitable.

 

Draco selected the room across from Harry’s. He hesitated a little at doing so, thinking it might be best if he took the room farthest away, but that room was tiny, and the one across from Potter’s was by far the nicest one on the floor.

 

With a murmured good night to Potter, Draco closed his door and unpacked. He wanted a bit of alone time. He’d stay in his room and read.

 

Harry wandered back downstairs to do a little reading himself. He’d gotten more serious about learning magic that could be useful to know in the war, and there were lots of books at Grimmauld Place. He’d read quite a few of them last summer when they’d been in and out cleaning the place up—something Molly had insisted upon as it was still being used as headquarters for the Order. One of the books had actually come in very handy for solving one of number twelve’s on-going problems.

 

While the Weasleys and Harry (and sometimes Hermione, when she wasn’t at home with her parents) had been cleaning, they were forever waking up the portrait of Walburga Black. Harry had quickly tired of her insulting comments and scathing remarks about half-breeds and freaks and her home being befouled. But luck had been with him: he’d taken one of the books from the Grimmauld Place library home with him to the Weasleys’ one night, and while he was reading, happened upon the counter-spell for a Permanent Sticking Charm.

 

The very next day, Harry’d tried it on Mrs Black’s enormous portrait—with everyone else watching with bated breath—and it had come crashing to the floor. They’d all sent up a great cheer. Mrs Black’s shouts and screeches could still be heard, but they were greatly muffled by the fact she was lying facedown on the floor.

 

Then the best part had happened: they’d lit a huge fire in the kitchen fireplace and had a lovely bonfire party, complete with toasted marshmallows and butterbeer. The portrait was almost life-sized, so they’d had to feed it in bit by bit, but that had simply prolonged the fun. Mrs Black had screamed some of the filthiest things Harry had ever heard—Hermione had blushed at some of them, and Mrs Weasley had attempted to cover Ginny’s ears they were so bad. Harry had found it fitting that painted Mrs Black’s last words were “Be gone!”

 

Harry knew he shouldn’t feel this way, but getting rid of the portrait had solved another problem: Kreacher. Harry’d ordered him to go and stay at Hogwarts before they’d started burning the portrait—just the fact that she was off the wall had sent the creepily devoted house-elf into hysterics. It was the last order he ever gave Kreacher—Dobby had shown up one day not long after the bonfire with the news that the old house-elf had finally died. Apparently he’d been completely despondent since arriving at Hogwarts and wouldn’t move from his bed. He’d been found there that morning, dead. Harry supposed he should have felt some kind of guilt, but the only thing he honestly felt was relief to be rid of the foul creature who had played a part in betraying Sirius.

 

All that was in the past though, so Harry pushed the memories aside. This evening, he settled in with a likely looking book entitled “Defending Against Dark Foes.” The reading could be a bit slow going, as some of the print was quite faded, but he found it fascinating. He asked Remus questions about what he read and if he’d help him practice some of the spells next day.

 

“Of course,” Remus said. “I’ve done a bit of training with some of the Weasleys and Hermione since Hogwarts closed. Perhaps we should set up a regular schedule for you all.”

 

“That would be brilliant,” Harry said enthusiastically. Remus was by far the best Defence teacher they’d ever had. They sat together and worked out a schedule for the week. Harry was quite excited about the prospect of actually doing something and learning something useful.

 

 

*****

 

The next day, Harry fire-called the Burrow and told them about the training schedule. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny agreed to come after lunch and said they’d invite Fred and George too, although they might be too busy at the shop. Bill was working, of course, and Charlie was in Romania.

 

Remus went out in the morning to run some errands, such as buying more food now that there were two more people staying at the house, and said he’d be back after lunch. Since Malfoy appeared to be clueless as to how to make a simple sandwich, Harry made lunch for both of them.

 

“Er, Malfoy,” Harry started, a bit awkwardly. “Some of the Weasleys and Hermione are coming over this afternoon to do Defence training with Remus.”

 

“And you’re warning me to stay in my room?” Draco drawled.

 

“No, I…I thought you might like to join us.”

 

Draco’s brows lifted in surprise. “Join you lot in training? Do you mean for target practice?”

 

“No!” Harry said, laughing. “I’m serious. Do you want to come?”

 

“I may have my wand back, but I’m not sure firing off hexes with Weasley and I in the same room is such a good idea.”

 

“About that,” Harry said, though he thought it curious that Draco had mentioned Ron instead of himself. Perhaps it was a good sign for what he was going to say next. “I talked to Ron and Hermione. I got them to agree to be civil if you will be.”

 

“I assume hexing Weasley’s bollocks off wouldn’t be considered civil.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “No. It would mean no name calling, no insults, no hexing outside of training purposes, and some general politeness.”

 

Draco took some time to make a decision. He and Potter were now living together, much to his displeasure—when Dumbledore had told him of his new living arrangements, he’d been rather horrified at the thought of living with Potter and a werewolf. He’d attempted to convince Dumbledore that him staying at Hogwarts would be best for all parties, but the old wizard had been adamant in his quiet, implacable way, and Draco had found himself packing his trunks. He was stuck, and the Slytherin thing to do was to make the best of a bad situation while trying to figure out a way to turn it to his advantage.

 

Now he was being offered an olive branch, and he knew it. Other than Dumbledore and Snape and possibly Lupin and McGonagall, Potter seemed to be the only person willing to be remotely nice to him. It wouldn’t do to offend Potter—he wasn’t sure if Potter even knew it, but he held quite a bit of power within the Order. Potter had stood up for him once, and the Order had listened to him. If Draco did something to piss him off, and Potter decided to speak against him…well, Draco wasn’t an idiot. He was very aware Potter could make things very difficult for him if he chose to. He might not like that fact, but there were a lot of facts about his life currently that Draco didn’t like, and it was just one more thing he was forcing himself to accept.

 

If he was going to be working with the Order, he was going to have to learn to get along with them at some point, no matter how distasteful some of them might be. Establishing a…professional relationship with these people had to be done, or his life would be absolutely miserable. Snape had done it. He supposed he could do it as well. And maybe he could even teach them a thing or two.

 

“I believe I can agree to that, as long as Weasley sticks to the same rules,” he said finally.

 

“Great,” Harry said, obviously relieved. “So you’ll join us at two then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Maybe we’d better say quarter past,” Harry reconsidered. “I need to tell the others you’re going to be joining us. Remus already knows I was going to invite you, and he’s fine with it.”

 

“Going to break it to Weasley gently?” Draco asked dryly.

 

“Something like that,” Harry agreed, smiling a bit ruefully.

 

Draco privately thought it was a good idea for Harry to warn the others. He didn’t fancy getting hexed on sight.

 

“Very well, two-fifteen. See you then.” With that, Malfoy excused himself, conveniently leaving Harry with the dishes.

 

 

*****

 

 

The first training session went fairly well. Everyone was on his or her best behaviour. Harry had a few rough moments with some of the magic being demonstrated—it kept reminding him of what it had felt like to have similar spells cast on him. He forced himself to bear it, though, and thought he’d done a fairly good job of hiding it. He’d caught a few concerned looks from Hermione and Remus but had waved them off and kept at it. He’d be damned if he let Voldemort and his minions keep him from learning what he needed to know.

 

The second session was fairly smooth as well. It was during the third session that things got a little tense for a while.

 

“There’s a better way to defend against that type of spell,” Malfoy told Remus.

 

“Really? What is it?”

 

“There are several different cutting curses the Death Eaters use, some of them worse than others. The shield you just taught us will work effectively against the spell you used to demonstrate it but not some of the others.”

 

Malfoy turned to the magical practice dummy they were using and fired off a curse Harry recognised from experience. The slash across the dummy’s chest was quite a bit deeper and longer than the one from the spell Remus had used, and blood poured from the gaping wound for a moment before disappearing. Harry had a flash of _feeling_ that curse and couldn’t keep himself from recoiling a little. His gut roiled and his breath came a little faster but he forced himself to keep it together.

 

“Figures Malfoy’d know the worst Dark spells possible,” Ron muttered, not quite under his breath.

 

“That’s far from the worst Dark spell I know, and I do know plenty of them,” Draco snapped. “And if you want to survive this war, you’re going to need some idea of what they are too, Weasley.”

 

“Guess dear old dad taught you everything he knows,” Ron shot back snidely.

 

“Not everything, but enough to be going on with,” Draco retorted. “Perhaps your father should have taught you more about defence seeing as you’re shite at it.”

 

Ron’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and Harry knew he was about to blow.

 

“Enough!” he shouted. A few red sparks flew from the tip of his wand, but Harry didn’t notice. Draco did and wondered about it.

 

“We’ve all agreed to get along and co-operate during these training sessions,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Anyone who can’t follow those basic guidelines can leave.”

 

Complete silence greeted his statement. After a minute, Remus cleared his throat.

 

“Draco, would you mind teaching us the defence against the spell you showed us?”

 

The rest of the lesson went smoothly enough. Ron sent a few nasty looks in Draco’s direction, which Draco completely ignored. Harry ignored them, too. At least Ron wasn’t saying anything.

 

After everyone had left, Remus, Harry, and Draco sat down to dinner.

 

“I appreciate you showing us that new shield, Draco,” Remus said.

 

“Weasley didn’t,” Draco said. “He had an awfully hard time learning it, too.”

 

“Malfoy…” Harry said warningly.

 

“What, am I not going to be allowed the state the obvious? It isn’t my fault Weasley was sulking too much to put any effort into learning it simply because I was the one who taught it.”

 

Harry coughed into his fist. Damn if Malfoy hadn’t nailed it right on the head.

 

“Yes, well,” Harry said lamely. “You still shouldn’t have made those comments during the lesson.”

 

“He started it,” Draco pointed out.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are we first-years or adults, Malfoy?”

 

If he thought he could get away with it, Draco would have made a comment under his breath about Ron Weasley behaving like a perpetual first-year but held his tongue.

 

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

After dinner, Draco deigned to grace Harry and Remus with his presence in the drawing room. Draco studied the Black family tree tapestry on the wall for a while before settling down with a book. A pleasant fire crackled in the hearth. Harry tried to read but couldn’t settle down. The training session had brought up a lot of unpleasant memories, and he was having a hard time putting them out of his mind.

“Merlin, Potter, must you be so fidgety?” Draco asked.

 

“Sorry. I can’t seem to concentrate for very long.”

 

Draco had been surreptitiously watching Potter and had noticed him grimacing and shaking his head as if to try and clear his mind of something several times. Draco had also caught the way Potter had flinched and gone pale a few times during the training sessions. He suspected the lessons were bringing up some painful memories.

 

“Potter, may I ask you a question?” Draco asked, deciding to use the opportunity to find out some information about some things he’d noticed during the training sessions. Perhaps even do a little kindness and distract Potter from his thoughts.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Do red sparks always fly out of your wand when you’re angry?”

 

Harry looked at him blankly. “What?”

 

“Today, when you were shouting at us to behave ourselves, red sparks shot out of your wand.”

 

“They did?” Harry looked at his wand that was lying on the table next to him as if he’d see the sparks. “I have no idea why that would happen. Remus, do you?”

 

Draco had been hoping Potter would ask the werewolf. He might actually know the answer, but Draco hadn’t wanted to ask him directly. He still wasn’t too sure about Lupin.

 

“Some wizards’ magic react to their emotions,” Remus said. “It could be that.”

 

“Or…?”

 

“Or it could be related to power. It may be both.”

 

“Power?”

 

This was exactly where Draco had hoped the conversation would go. He’d always assumed Potter to be a mediocre or perhaps average wizard, though he’d always done well in Defence. But he’d noticed some surprising things recently, and coupled with some things he’d observed while Potter was a prisoner, his curiosity was aroused.

 

“Many powerful wizards sometimes have difficulty controlling their power, especially when strong emotions are involved,” Remus answered.

 

“Oh. Well, I must just be one of those wizards whose magic reacts to their emotions,” Harry said, seeming to dismiss it.

 

“What do you think, Draco?” Remus asked, a considering expression on his face.

 

“I think Potter may have more power than he thinks he has.”

 

“And why do you think that?”

 

Draco shrugged. “All of the spells I’ve seen him cast the past few days are obviously stronger than anyone else’s. Sometimes significantly stronger. And he can do some wandless magic.” He was mildly impressed with himself for not choking on the words, as admitting Potter was powerful was not something he’d ever imagined himself doing.

 

“How do you know that?” Harry asked.

 

“When you were first captured, you used wandless magic a few times to shield yourself from some of the curses thrown at you by the Death Eaters.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I’ve also seen you doing a little around here.”

 

“Spying on me, Malfoy?”

 

“It isn’t spying when you do it where anyone can see you,” Draco pointed out. “You reached out and Summoned the sugar bowl this morning at breakfast just as I was walking in. Nonverbally, too, I might add.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said again.

 

“Is that all you can say, Potter? ‘Oh?’”

 

“I’m thinking,” Harry defended himself. “Can’t anyone who practices do some wandless magic?”

 

“Some people can master some simple things,” Remus agreed.

 

“Shield charms aren’t simple,” Draco pointed out. “Many people never master them with their wands.”

 

“True,” Remus said. “I agree with you, Draco. Harry’s more powerful than he realises.”

 

“He just needs to be taught how to capitalise on it.”

 

Remus nodded. “Are you up to the task?”

 

“Me?” Draco asked, quite surprised.

 

“You,” Remus said.

 

“Hold on!” Harry said, waving his hands. “I’m sitting right here, you know. So I can cast a Shield charm wandlessly under duress. That probably ties in to the emotions thing Remus mentioned before. And I haven’t noticed my magic being particularly stronger than anyone else’s in training.”

 

“Then you haven’t been paying attention,” Draco said, a bit tartly. Trust Potter to be oblivious. “The spells you cast both to attack and defend are noticeably stronger. You’ve seen it too, haven’t you?” he asked Lupin.

 

“I have,” Remus said. “Harry, I know this conversation is making you uncomfortable, but Draco has brought up something I had planned to talk to you about in a few more days, after I’d had the chance to observe you a little longer.

 

“You _are_ able to cast spells more powerfully than the others. And it’s not something new for you. You mastered the Patronus charm, a rather difficult piece of magic, during your third year. You pick up new spells and charms relatively easily. You picked them up independently just from reading them in books well enough to teach your peers in the DA.”

 

“You learned the Patronus charm in third year?” Draco asked in disbelief. “You cast a full-fledged Patronus? I saw you cast something silvery at the Quidditch match that time I…”

 

“That time you tried to sabotage our match by dressing up like a Dementor?” Harry asked, sounding resentful. “I haven’t forgotten that, you know.”

 

Draco smirked a little, and Harry rolled his eyes, deciding to let it go. “Prat. Anyway, since I don’t react well to Dementors, Remus taught it to me so I could use it if I was ever near one again.”

 

“And you used it successfully when you saved Sirius and yourself from a rather large swarm of Dementors,” Remus added.

 

“I also used it to save my cousin Dudley from that Dementor in Little Whinging. I’m still not sure why I bothered to save that prick. All it did was get me into trouble with the Ministry.”

 

Draco was staring at both of the other men in avid fascination. He held up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You were not only able to cast the Patronus charm as a third-year, but you used it to fight off multiple Dementors at the same time? Alone?”

 

“Yes, but—”

 

“And you used it to save a Muggle in a Muggle town, and it got you in trouble?”

 

“Yes.” Harry briefly explained his trial for the underage use of magic.

 

“You were tried by the full Wizengamot? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

 

“It’s true, trust me. Your friend Umbridge was involved, and she tried rather hard to have my wand snapped.” Harry glared at Draco. “Do you know I still have scars from that evil woman’s Blood Quill? You take part of the blame for that, Mr Inquisitorial Squad.”

 

The last thing Draco Malfoy wanted to talk about with Harry Potter was Dolores Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad. If there were something guaranteed to get Potter angry with him, it would be that. And he supposed he understood Potter’s point-of-view; Umbridge _had_ been an evil toad, and he’d quite gleefully tormented Potter for the entire year. It had been fun getting Potter and his friends in trouble. He wondered idly what the scar on Potter’s hand said—he’d have to try and see if he could read it later.

 

He reminded himself that he had to keep himself on Potter’ good side. A change of subject was definitely in order.

 

“Yes, well, getting back to the point. You’ve obviously got some power hiding in there, Potter, even more than I suspected. Why don’t you do something with it?”

 

“Like curse you?” Harry muttered under his breath.

 

“Boys,” Remus said mildly.

 

Harry glared at Malfoy a moment longer. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Fixing a neutral expression on his face, he returned his attention to Remus.

 

“This may not be the best time to discuss this, but as I started to say a few minutes ago, I think Draco could really help you discover your strengths, Harry. In return, you could share your own knowledge and skills with Draco.

 

“You’ve got some power yourself, Draco, you’re well versed in spells, and I imagine you can hold your own in a duel.”

 

At Draco’s nod, Remus continued. “I think the two of you could learn a lot from each other. If you let yourselves.”

 

Standing he said, “I think I’ll give you both some time to think on that. Good night.”

 

Silence reigned for a long time after Remus left. Finally Harry said, “I’m not entirely convinced my power is anything special, but I suppose we could try working together.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re interested, that is.”

 

Of their own volition, Draco’s eyes followed Potter’s hand as it ran through his messy black tresses and watched the hair fall back into place. It was so thick. Would it be soft to the touch? Catching himself, he gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he doing staring at Potter’s hair?

 

Bringing his mind back to the topic, he continued what he’d been thinking before Potter had interrupted. He’d been weighing the pros and cons of working with Potter, and the pro side of the scale was heavier than the con side. It would give him something to do other than read and suffer watching Ron Weasley attempt to shield himself from hexes. It could be interesting helping Potter develop and use his power to his full potential. It could also be very beneficial, seeing as how he was depending on Potter to help win this war.

 

“All right, Potter. We’ll try it.”

 

 

*****

 

 

There wasn’t a group-training lesson the next day, so Harry and Draco met to start their practising with each other.

 

Draco was a stern taskmaster of a teacher. He harped on Harry to “Focus, Potter! Focus!” so many times Harry thought it would be echoing through his dreams. They were practising with familiar regular spells—not defensive/offensive spells like they did with the full group—and Harry thought he was plenty focussed whenever he did the spells successfully, but Draco wasn’t always satisfied.

 

When Draco had asked if he knew Occlumency (Draco knew he did—otherwise the Dark Lord would have simply yanked the prophecy out of Potter’s head, if he knew it), and received an answer in the affirmative, he’d switched over to teaching Harry how to use the same skills he used to clear his mind to focus his concentration and his power. Draco was much more satisfied with Harry’s progress after that. He even gave a bit of grudging praise. Harry wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he could feel a difference in his magic the times when he was doing a spell powerfully enough to please Draco. It was almost as if he could feel a gathering of the magic inside himself. He tried to keep the feeling in his mind as he practised with other spells.

 

They fell into a routine as the days passed. Draco spent some time alone, working on duplicating the Apparition Hoop. Harry kept himself entertained by reading and listening to music sometimes. Harry and Draco would train along with the others and Remus, or they’d do their own one-on-one training. Harry taught Draco some things about defence (Draco tended to use the “the attack is the defence” mind-set when duelling), but mostly they worked on Harry honing his power with more and more difficult spells.

 

Harry had a couple of more flashbacks. They always started as dreams that had him waking, shaking and scared and feeling residual pain. He didn’t mention them to anyone, but sometimes Remus asked if he was doing all right after he’d come down to breakfast looking a little rough. Harry put him off, saying he didn’t want to talk about it. He really didn’t. But the flashbacks stirred something in him—anger. A lot of anger. And a need to kill Voldemort as soon as possible.

 

After they’d been training together for some time, and after Harry’d given it a great deal of thought, he asked Malfoy to actually teach him some Dark spells—not just show them to him like Malfoy sometimes did at the group practises. He wanted to know how to defend against them, but he also wanted to learn to cast them. He had to defeat Voldemort. He wasn’t going to do it using a Jelly-Leg Jinx or a Bat-Bogey Hex. He needed to know anything and everything possible that could help him win. He had no interest in being the one who died.

 

Malfoy had given him an appraising look when he’d asked. Then he’d said, “Well, let’s see what you’re made of, Potter,” and started teaching Harry some of the Darker magic he knew. Harry picked up the new spells as easily as he did other new spells; he wondered if that should bother him, but he decided it didn’t really matter. A spell was a spell. He didn’t plan on using Dark magic outside of the war and wasn’t at all worried he’d develop some strange fascination for the Dark Arts like Snape or become an evil, noseless megalomaniac Dark Lord, so he figured he was pretty safe learning magic he hoped he could use to put an end to the war by destroying Voldemort.

 

Harry was surprised, but the two of them actually worked pretty well together. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t snapped at Draco several times, or that Draco never used the sharp side of his tongue, but for the most part they got along smoothly enough. Harry was pleased to note that Draco seemed to be making a real effort to hold his tongue during the group trainings—he was actually doing a better job than Ron at it. Harry’d had to pull Ron aside after one session to remind him that being an arse wasn’t allowed during training.

 

Keeping his word to Dumbledore, Harry tried to maintain a friendly demeanour with Draco. Malfoy wasn’t the most social of people—at least not around Gryffindors—but Harry thought he was making some progress breaking through his shell. He’d played (and lost) several games of wizard chess with Malfoy, and Malfoy had reluctantly played a few games of Exploding Snap with Harry. Of course he’d complained about playing a children’s game, but Harry thought he had fun anyway.

 

The war was going through a rather quiet phase. It made Harry a little nervous, wondering if Voldemort was planning something big, but it was also nice not to hear about attacks in the _Daily Prophet_ or on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

 

Draco had to admit spending time with Potter and the werewolf wasn’t as difficult as he’d originally thought it would be. Remus Lupin was a very mild-mannered man (a bit ironic for a werewolf) with a rather dry wit that Draco actually found amusing.

 

And Potter…well, Potter wasn’t so bad. He had poor taste in friends, especially the weasel, but he’d been making an obvious effort to put the past behind them and move forward, so Draco had been too. Draco had noticed that Potter liked to do things to try and catch him off guard, especially if he could make him laugh. It was surprising, but Draco thought he’d laughed more with Potter in the past two weeks than he had in the past year.

 

Although it was still January, an unusual warm spell rolled in for a couple of days. Draco found Harry out in the tiny garden behind Grimmauld Place one afternoon stretched out in a patch of sunlight, staring up at the clouds.  

 

“What are you doing, Potter?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, hi, Malfoy. Nothing much. Just relaxing.”

 

“I thought perhaps you were finding the answers to the mysteries of life in the clouds.”

 

Harry chuckled. “No, just some old men and an owl.”

 

“What?”

 

“You know, pictures in the clouds. See that one there, to the right of the tree?” he asked, pointing. “It almost looks like a Snitch.”

 

Draco looked and thought he could see what Potter was talking about. He lifted the glass of water he’d carried outside and took a long swallow as he studied the clouds—they’d only recently finished some training, and he was rather thirsty.

 

Harry glanced up at Malfoy to see if he was looking for the Snitch-cloud and found himself fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as his throat worked to swallow down the water.

 

“Potter? Potter!”

 

Harry snapped out of the little daydream he’d drifted into at the sound of Malfoy’s voice.

 

“What? Yes?”

 

“Why are you staring at me that way?”

 

“What? Was I staring?  


“Yes.”

 

“Sorry, mind must have wandered,” Harry covered, not quite sure how to tell Malfoy he’d been watching his throat work. He wasn’t even quite sure why he had been.

 

“Well, don’t let it wander too far—it might get lost, and knowing your mind, it would never be able to find it’s way back.”

 

Harry laughed. “It always seems to make it back home. It wandered off quite frequently during Binns’ class, so it’s had lots of practise finding its way back.”

 

Draco snorted. He knew exactly what Potter was talking about—the ghost’s class was beyond boring.

 

“Have a seat,” Harry offered, patting the ground next to him.

 

“Isn’t the ground cold?”

 

“Funny, I thought you were a wizard. Have you never heard of warming charms?”

 

Malfoy shot Harry a dirty look Harry found inordinately funny, and he cracked up laughing.

 

“You laugh at the strangest things,” Draco observed as he spread out his cloak and sat down next to Harry. He took out his wand to cast a warming spell, but Potter’s hand on his wrist stopped him. Draco looked down at the hand—he wasn’t sure if Potter had ever touched him before. At least not outside of a fight. The fingers were long and narrow, and Potter’s skin was several shades darker than his own. His eyes were drawn to a squiggly white scar that ran across the top of Potter’s right hand: _I must not tell lies._ Inexplicitly, he felt a twinge of guilt. He must have written that sentence hundreds of times for the scar still to be there.

 

Harry didn’t seem to be aware of Draco’s scrutiny of his hand and said, “No, wait. I’ve been practising my wandless skills.” He moved his hand in a similar fashion to how he would if he were holding his wand, and the air and ground became noticeably more comfortable.

 

“Well done, Potter,” Draco murmured. He was going to have to start practising his own wandless skills if he wanted to keep up.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said. “It can’t tell if it lasts as long as it does when I use my wand, but it would work in a pinch.”

 

They sat together for almost an hour, chatting about this and that. When they finally went inside to dinner, Draco realised he’d completely relaxed in Potter’s company, enough so that for the first time in ages he hadn’t been censoring his thoughts or considering every word carefully before it came out of his mouth. It pleasantly surprised him and gave him something to think about.

 

Harry also noticed that he was actually finding himself having a good time when he was with Malfoy. It surprised him that they actually had things in common. When he wasn’t being a snooty, temperamental aristocrat, he was actually pretty amusing.

 

Things were going along pretty well until Ron and Hermione dropped in unannounced one morning. Harry, Draco, and Remus were in the drawing room, and Draco had just made one of his typically sarcastic comments Harry found funnier and funnier the longer he was around Draco. Draco was sitting at one end of the couch snickering, and Harry was bent over double laughing when Ron and Hermione came in.

 

“Hey, Harry—” Ron stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his best friend and worst enemy sharing a laugh together. “What’s going on?”

 

“Oh, Malfoy just said—never mind, you had to be here.” The second the words were out of his mouth, Harry knew he’d said the wrong thing.

 

Ron’s expression darkened “So I see. Guess it’s a good thing Malfoy’s here to keep you entertained.”

 

“Ron,” Harry started, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

 

Ron sneered. “I’ll leave you to your fun.”

 

He spun around and walked out. Hermione stood, looking back and forth between her boyfriend and Harry.

 

“Harry, do something,” she hissed.

 

Harry rolled his shoulders and stood up. He muttered something under his breath about “fucking idiot,” but Draco wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or Weasley. When Draco caught himself thinking he’d agree if Harry were talking about Ron, he realised it wouldn’t have been so long ago he would have been thinking the comment applied to both of them.

 

“Ron, wait,” Harry called, walking quickly down the hallway.

 

“Oh, no, I’d hate to disturb your quality time with _Malfoy,”_ Ron returned sarcastically.

 

“Ron, I swear—” Harry cut himself off. Dammit. He did not want to deal with this shite. “Let’s not have this conversation out here. Come up to my room.”

 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather chat with the ferret?”

 

“Stop being an arse,” Harry snapped. “You can come upstairs, and we can sort this out, or you can leave and have a tantrum elsewhere.”

 

“You’re kicking me out?” Ron asked incredulously.

 

Harry dragged a hand through his hair and prayed for patience. “No, Ron, I’m asking you to come upstairs and have a civilised conversation.”

 

With that he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. Ron would either follow or he wouldn’t.

 

After a moment, he heard his two friends tromping up the stairs behind him. He stalked into his room. The minute they were inside, he slammed the door and cast a privacy charm.

 

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

 

“That’s what I want to know!” Ron exclaimed. “What the hell were you doing down there with him?”

 

“We were just talking,” Harry said impatiently. “It’s not like we were snogging or something.”

 

 _‘Wow, where did that come from?’_ Harry thought.

 

Ron was staring at him, gobsmacked. _“Snogging?”_

Harry waved a hand dismissively, though he wondered at the way his heart had skipped a beat at the brief flash of him and Malfoy locked together on a couch his ever-so-helpful imagination had pulled up. “Forget it, I was trying to be funny. You know, ha-ha?”

 

“‘Ha-ha’ is what I heard down there. What on earth could you possibly be laughing about with Malfoy?”

 

“It was no big deal, Ron, really. We were just chatting, and Malfoy made this smartarse comment, and I thought it was funny. That’s all.”

 

“Chatting with Malfoy?”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. Luckily, Hermione came to the rescue.

 

“I’m sure Harry is just trying to do like Professor Dumbledore asked him and be nice around Malfoy,” she soothed. “Right, Harry?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, gratefully grabbing hold of the lifeline she’d thrown him. He realised he hadn’t thought about Dumbledore’s request in quite a while—it had become normal to be friendly with Malfoy.

 

“I thought you were going to be polite and stuff, not become best friends,” Ron sulked.

 

Ah, the crux of the problem: Ron’s jealousy. It had long been an issue. One that Harry was a bit tired of. He thought Ron should relax a little now that he was older. His jealousy of Harry at times was rather childish.

 

“We’re not best friends, and I’m not looking to become best friends with him,” Harry said as patiently as possible. “Ron, we’re living here together in the same house. Do we ever sit around and chat? Yes, we do. Do we still argue sometimes? Yes, we do. Are we both making an effort to get along a little better now that we’re allies in this war and are supposed to be helping each other? Yes, we are. To be honest, I feel it’s appropriate to be a little nice to the man who saved my life. That’s all there is to it.”

 

“I’m glad you and Malfoy have found a way to co-exist in this house together,” Hermione said diplomatically. “And I’m sure it would be rather boring here at times if you didn’t have anyone to talk to.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“You could talk to Remus,” Ron pointed out.

 

Harry’s hand was back in his hair, and he wanted to pull it. “I do talk to Remus. Often. But I can’t talk to him 24/7. Malfoy and I just…I mean, we eat together and sit in the same room together. Of course we talk sometimes. We have to talk while we’re training.”

 

“How’s that going with Malfoy?” Hermione asked. She and Ron knew Draco and Harry were doing some more training together outside of the group. Harry hadn’t mentioned anything about Draco helping him get a better handle on his power—he’d just sort of let them believe they were practising together since they were together all day anyway.

 

“I still don’t understand why you’re working with Malfoy when Remus is here,” Ron commented.

 

“I told you, it was Remus’ idea. I think he feels Malfoy’s experience as a…fake…Death Eater can be beneficial to me, since I’m the one who’s going to have to be going up against Voldemort at some point.” He looked at Hermione. “It’s going very well, actually. We’re both learning from each other.”

 

“That’s good. I’m glad. I think the spells Malfoy has shown all of us could be very useful to be able to recognise one day—some of the spells are a little scary, but the Death Eaters are pretty scary.”

 

“Exactly,” Harry agreed, keeping the fact that he could now do more than simply recognise some of those spells to himself.

 

“Fine,” Ron huffed. “Just don’t think I’m going to be paling around with Malfoy.”

 

“No one’s asking you to,” Harry said, relieved Ron seemed to have calmed down. “Anyway, why are you here?”

 

“Oh!” Hermione said. “I completely forgot. Mrs Weasley wants to have a big family dinner, and since you aren’t allowed to come to the Burrow, she wondered if you and Remus would like it if we all came over here one night.”

 

“That would be great!” Harry enthused. “I’m sure Remus would love it, too.”

 

They fell into planning for the dinner and various other subjects, and the argument between Ron and Harry was put aside.

 

 

*****

 

 

Later that night, Harry was up in his room getting ready for bed. Feeling a bit peckish, he stepped out into the hallway to head downstairs for a snack. Draco, clad only in a towel and dripping wet, was coming down the hallway towards him.

 

“Oh, hey, Malfoy,” Harry said, feeling a little awkward for some reason. He raked his gaze down Draco’s wet chest and felt a stirring in his groin. Malfoy might be slender, but he was damn well put together. Pale, smooth skin covered firm, nicely defined muscles, and the flat brown discs of his nipples were tight in the slightly chilly air of the hallway. He wouldn’t mind…

 

Harry blinked and snapped himself back. Flushing a little, he hoped Malfoy hadn’t noticed him staring.

 

Draco _had_ noticed, but since he’d felt the heat of Harry’s green gaze on his skin like a physical touch, he was feeling a little awkward too.

 

“Potter,” he managed and nodded to the other man. He quickly slipped into his room and shut the door.

 

Harry stood standing in the corridor staring at the closed door for several minutes. Had he really just looked at Malfoy and gotten a little turned on? Had he really thought that he looked rather…hot…in that skimpy towel?

 

Shaking his head, Harry hurried back into his room, snack forgotten. He thought maybe a cold shower was in order. But when he got into the shower, he realised he was still thinking about Malfoy’s body—long and lean and sleekly wet. Lathering his own body with soap, he tried to rationalise why the little moment in the hallway had happened. He was horny, obviously. He’d not had sex in ages, and as there was no outlook for any on the horizon, he was seriously—ha-ha—hard up for some action. And Malfoy was here all the time. So it was no big deal he’d noticed Malfoy’s pecs, or the way the towel rode so low on his narrow hips that Harry could almost see the top of his arse when he’d turned his back to go into his room.

 

He’d started stroking himself without really being aware of it. Resting his head back against the wall, he let his mind drift to one of his favourite fantasies: a hot, anonymous bloke sucking his cock hard and deep in his mouth. Harry inhaled deeply as his hand sped up a little. The man’s tongue was dipping into his slit and rolling his foreskin back with each downward motion. His breath started to come a little faster as the fantasy moved on to the next stage, the part where the man had Harry bent over a couch, fucking him hard. Stroking his cock harder and faster, Harry climbed toward climax. His fingers rolled down along his shaft, gave a little squeeze at the base, then travelled back upwards to rub across the swollen head. He could just _feel_ the heat of the man behind him, stretching his hole wide, wider as he pounded inside him. Harry reached behind himself and breached his hole with two soap-slick fingers. It only took a few short thrusts of his hand to have him coming. Harry groaned out his release as he continued fucking himself with his fingers and pulling desperately at his prick. He was gasping, coming down from the incredible high when he realised something that almost had him falling down: the man in his fantasy hadn’t been so anonymous this time. It had been Draco Malfoy.

 

 

*****

 

 

Draco stood in his room, his breath coming a little fast. The way Potter had just looked at him…like he was a desirable man instead of Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater. Potter hadn’t even seemed to notice the Dark Mark on his arm, something Draco was always aware of—especially when it burned some evenings. Potter had looked him up and down, and Draco hadn’t seen disgust or indifference in those damn green eyes—he’d seen _approval_. Could Potter actually find him attractive?

 

It was almost too ridiculous an idea to even entertain. But he hadn’t been imagining how those eyes had swept his body…or how he’d felt a little tingle inside when they had.

 

Draco dropped his towel and got into his pyjamas. When Weasley had thrown his little temper tantrum simply because Draco was there and Potter was apparently having too good a time, Draco had wondered if friendly-Potter was going to disappear, and they’d be back to awkward silences and speaking only when necessary. Draco could admit he’d miss it if Potter stopped talking to him. Potter had almost become…what? A friend?

 

Pondering the notion of being friends with Harry Potter, Draco climbed into bed. He came to the conclusion that Potter wasn’t as big an idiot as he’d always thought he was. Weasley was still the biggest idiot he’d ever met. He realised that while he’d been able to develop an amicable relationship with Potter, it was something he could have never done in a million years if he’d been cooped up in this house with Weasley. No, the house would have been levelled by now.

 

But that look Potter had given him…Draco had a suspicion that he would still be talking to him next day.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 

 

The night of the Weasley family dinner arrived, and Draco was about to make himself scarce. Potter’d invited him to join them, of course, as had Lupin, but Draco had declined. He didn’t think he could tolerate eating at a table full of Weasleys.

 

Then Molly Weasley caught him in the kitchen as he was putting together a sandwich (Potter had insisted he learn how) and crisps to eat in his room. Before he could excuse himself, she said,

 

“I hope you’ll be joining us for dinner, er, Mr Malfoy.” She seemed unsure as to what to call him.

 

“I…appreciate the offer, but I think it would be best for all involved if I just ate in my room.”

 

He picked up his plate and started to leave, but she stopped him.

“Mr Malfoy. Draco. I realise our families have never gotten along, and this is a bit awkward for both of us. But I’d like it if you stayed for dinner. We’re all on the same side now, and we need to start acting that way.”

 

What could he possibly say to that? He could hardly decline now—he’d look like a bloody arse and offend the woman Harry Potter looked to as a mother. With a hidden sigh and resigning himself to what was sure to be the most uncomfortable meal of his life, Draco pulled out the manners that had been drilled into him since childhood and hitched a politely pleasant expression on his face.

 

“Very well, then. I’ll join you. Thank you.”

 

When he walked into the dining room a little later, most everyone else was seated. Granger’s eyes widened when she saw him, and she darted a quick glance at Potter as if to ask how to handle the situation. The girl Weasley nudged one of the twins in the side and had him looking over. When he saw Malfoy, he grinned.

 

“Ah, and here’s our favourite Death Eater come to call. Have a seat, Malfoy.”

 

Harry looked round and was pleasantly surprised to see Draco. He wondered what had made Draco change his mind about eating with them.

 

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Ron asked scathingly. “This is a _family_ dinner. He’s not invited.”

 

Harry shot Ron the evilest glare he could muster up. He was about to snap at his friend when Mrs Weasley did it for him.

 

“I invited him, Ronald Weasley, and I expect you to show better manners than that when we’re guests in someone else’s home! You should be ashamed.”

 

Before Ron could say anything, she smiled kindly at Draco. “Draco, have a seat anywhere.”

 

Draco viewed the decision of where to sit as a bit like trying to decide which alligator he wanted to pet—he didn’t particularly like any of the options. He was saved when Potter motioned him to a chair between himself and Mr Weasley. Hoping the elder Weasley had better manners and more self-control than his youngest son, Draco sat down.

 

Ron stewed a little, but then apparently decided to pretend Malfoy didn’t exist. Draco sat back and observed while he ate what was admittedly very good roast chicken and potatoes. The way these people interacted was fascinating. They joked and teased, talked over one another, passed things around the table haphazardly, and never, ever seemed to stop talking. It was a bit overwhelming.

 

The twin sitting across from him tried to engage him in conversation a few times, as did Potter, but Draco preferred to keep as low a profile as possible. He made appropriate comments whenever asked a direct question but didn’t prolong any conversations. He particularly watched Potter. Covertly, of course. Potter was probably the happiest he’d ever seen him. Potter was always putting on a friendly face whenever Draco was around, but he’d caught Potter many times with a rather pensive expression—one that quickly disappeared if he caught Draco looking at him. There was one time he’d walked into library, and he’d seen Potter with his head in his hands, pulling at his hair with such a terrible air of despair, it had shocked Draco. And reluctantly pulled at something inside him. He’d quietly eased out of the room and left Potter to his disturbing thoughts, whatever they might be. Though Draco could hazard a pretty good guess as to what they were.

 

Watching Potter fool around and happily interact with his adopted family gave Draco a funny feeling inside. When he analysed it later that night, he realised he was glad for Potter—glad he’d had those few hours of fun. After what he’d been through, he deserved them. He also came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he was a bit jealous. Not of the Weasleys, per se, but the camaraderie he’d witnessed. The easy laughter, the casual touches, the frequent smiles. He’d never had anything like that with his family or his friends. It startled him to understand that Potter had been offering him the same easy smiles that he offered his friends.

 

After dinner was been cleaned up and a few rousing games of Exploding Snap played, the Weasleys gathered up their belongings and went back home. Draco was exhausted just from watching them all night. After the noisy lot cleared out, he made the trek up to his room. Before he could go in, however, he heard Potter bounding up the stairs behind him.

 

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said breathing a little heavily. “I just wanted to...wanted to, you know, say I’m glad you joined us tonight. I hope you had a nice time.”

 

“It was…interesting,” Draco said, his lips quirking.

 

Potter grinned. “Meals with the Weasleys always are. That’s why I enjoy them so much. Never a dull moment.”

 

“Indeed,” Draco said, stifling a laugh.

 

“Anyway, er, that’s all. Have a good night.”

 

“Good night, Potter.”

 

 

*****

 

 

Two days later, not too long after Draco had felt the Dark Mark burn and had dutifully reported it to Lupin, who’d reported it to Hogwarts, the residents of Grimmauld Place got an emergency Floo-call from McGonagall.

 

“We’ve gotten word Lucius Malfoy will be leading an attack on Hogsmeade. We have a plan in place so as not to alert the Death Eaters we were forewarned.”

 

“What is it?” Harry asked.

 

“Fred and George Weasley will be stationed outside of Zonko’s Joke Shop, as if they just happened to be there. When the Death Eaters arrive, they will Apparate out to inform us at Hogwarts. We, in turn, will alert the Order and the Aurors. The Order will be ready and waiting, of course, and will be able to get to Hogsmeade more quickly than the Aurors.”

 

After McGonagall closed the call, Harry mentally steadied himself. He’d been dreading this moment—the moment he’d have to face Death Eaters. Even the idea of seeing one made his stomach clutch. But he had to participate in battles—how would he ever be able to defeat Voldemort if he stayed hidden in Grimmauld Place all the time?

 

Resolutely, he turned to Draco. “I guess we get to see how well that glamour of yours works.”

 

“What glamour?” Remus asked.

 

“Malfoy and I created glamours for each other to use in case there was an attack, and we were needed to fight.”

 

“Harry, neither of you should be—”

 

“Remus, we’ve already discussed this. I’m going. This is my war, I’m an Order member, and I need the experience if I’m ever to have any hope of successfully confronting Voldemort one day. I’m well aware I’m a huge target and highly recognisable, so we created the glamours.”

 

He turned to Draco. “I’m not sure you should go along on this one, though, not if your father’s leading it.”

 

“I agree, Draco. Even with a glamour, if it should fail…”

 

“I’d be the biggest target next to Potter and Dumbledore.” Draco hesitated. He really didn’t want to go into battle at all. He was on this side of the war almost by default. But he felt like a bit of a coward staying home while everyone else went. He cursed himself for feeling that way and blamed it on the damn Gryffindor influence surrounding him.

 

“You’d also be put in the position of possibly having to go up against your father,” Harry said quietly. “That’s an awful lot to ask of anyone.”

 

Draco grimaced. “He might recognise me even with the glamour—he did train me. He knows how I fight.”

 

“Then you won’t go,” Harry said decisively. “You’ll participate by performing the glamour on me.”

 

“Take your Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” Remus advised. “If the glamour should fail, it would be good backup.”

 

“Good idea,” Harry agreed.

 

When McGonagall’s call came a few hours later, Draco quickly applied Harry’s disguise. His hair and eyes were changed to a neutral brown and his glasses were brown horn-rims. His infamous lightning bolt scar was covered. As soon as he was ready, Remus and Harry Apparated to the Shrieking Shack, the safest place for them to arrive without landing in the middle of a battle.

 

That battle was in full swing by the time they arrived. Without giving himself time to think, Harry dove into the fight, firing off hexes. A Leg-Locker curse and a follow-up Stunner took one Death Eater out of the picture. Harry saw a flash of purple light and wondered if it was the same spell that had hurt Hermione back in the Department of Mysteries. He cast _Protego_ or one of its stronger variants any number of times as he moved down the road, adrenaline making his senses sharper. There was a drift of smoke and bursts of red, of orange, of blue danced in the dark, backed by overlapping voices calling out spells and directions. Feeling more alive than he had in ages, Harry dove behind some hedges, poked his wand out between the small branches and shot off a Body-Bind. The Death Eater who’d been pursuing him fell over, and Harry used _Incarcerous_ to bind him in ropes before adding the Anti-Disapparition spell.  

 

He dared using some of the Darker spells he’d been learning from Malfoy. The kind that caused pain. Every time one of his spells hit home and a Death Eater screamed and went down, he felt a vicious sort of satisfaction, a tight little black tendril uncurling inside him. There was a violence inside him that using the Dark spells was allowing him to release—he finally had an outlet for some of his supressed rage.

 

He turned just in time to mostly dodge a hex shot at him. Hearing the shouted incantation along with feeling the burning slice to his left arm took his breath away—and threw him backwards in time. Harry supposed it was due to all the training, but his body reacted on autopilot by diving to the side. He scrambled into an alleyway between two shops. His hands shook as he ripped his shrunken Invisibility Cloak out from his pocket. Gone was the anger; it was overshadowed by fear. By slashing, surging terror. He was swamped with dark memories as he flung the Cloak over himself.

 

Harry trembled violently as clipped flashes of curse after curse hitting his defenceless body rolled through his mind at high-speed. His stomach heaved, sending the sour taste of bile rising into the back of his throat, and he only barely managed to prevent himself from being ill. Wave after wave of pain drenched him, had him curling into a tight, defensive ball. Behind his closed eyelids, flashes of light burst through the darkness in Hogsmeade and in his mind. When he heard someone scream, he cringed as the spikes of his own remembered screams filled his ears.

 

It could have been minutes later or it could have been hours. Harry never knew. But he eventually pulled himself together. He was breathing as heavily as if he’d just run a marathon. He concentrated on slowing his breathing and evening it out. He remembered Malfoy reminding him to use Occlumency techniques to focus and clear his mind, so he did. It helped. The bone-rattling shakes gradually eased into slight trembles as he relaxed his tense muscles. He took one steady breath, then a second. He would be all right.

When he was calm enough to think straight, he gathered himself and looked out into the main street. There seemed to be a few duels still taking place, but it looked as though the battle was just about over. Berating himself for being a coward, he remained hidden under his Cloak until all signs of fighting ended. After removing his glamour and taking one long, fortifying breath, he eased out of his hiding place and edged out into the street, wand at the ready.

 

He caught a glimpse of red hair and moved in that direction.

 

“Hey, mate, all right?” Fred asked, looking in concern at Harry’s arm.

 

“I will be,” Harry replied, keeping his eyes averted from his wound. He didn’t think he could handle looking at it right now. “You?”

 

“All good. Dad got hit, but he should be fine. They’re taking him over to Hogwarts now.”

 

“Oh, well, I’m glad he wasn’t hurt too seriously. Know anything else?”

 

“No, but we seem to be having a confab over there, so let’s join in.”

 

They walked over and joined the Order members where they stood discussing the battle. Harry learned four Death Eaters had been captured and taken away by the Aurors. In addition to Mr Weasley, Sturgis Podmore and three Aurors had been hurt, two of the Aurors quite seriously. Many others were sporting minor injuries—bumps and bruises and cuts—like Harry.

 

Leaving the Aurors the job of calming the Hogsmeade residents, most of the Order began walking to Hogwarts. While the group headed by unspoken agreement to the infirmary, Harry ducked away to use the Floo fireplace the Order members used to attend meetings. He decided the Headmaster probably wouldn’t mind if he used it to contact Draco and let him know the outcome of the battle.

 

“Did you see my father?”

 

“No, I didn’t. I’ll ask the others if they did.”

 

“Did the glamour hold?”

 

“Yeah, it did, thanks.”

 

“Are you all right? You seem…is there something wrong?”

 

Harry hesitated. Freaking out during battle wasn’t something he particularly wanted to discuss with anyone and it bothered him that Malfoy could tell he was rattled. “It’s nothing. I need to get to the hospital wing to get a cut healed. Remus and I should be back before much longer.”

 

Draco looked at Harry suspiciously but only nodded and ended the call.

 

Arriving at the infirmary, Harry was immediately accosted by Hermione.

 

“There you are! Oh! You’re hurt!” she cried, catching sight of his arm.

 

“Yeah. Took a minute to let Malfoy know what happened.”

 

“Come over here to see Madam Pomfrey.”

 

She dragged Harry over to the matron, who sat him down on a bed until she could get to him. Ron joined Harry and Hermione.

 

“All right?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You two ok?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione answered for them both. “I really feel like all the work we’ve been doing on defensive spells helped a lot.”

 

“I agree,” Harry said, recalling how it had been almost automatic sometimes the way he’d reacted to an attack.

 

Ron looked around. “Where’s the ferret?”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. “You know what, Ron? I’m not in the mood.”

 

“What? I was just asking.”

 

“He didn’t come. He’s rather recognisable, and his father was leading the raid. By the way, did anyone see Lucius?”

 

“I did,” Hermione said. “He’s so easy to spot because of his hair.”

 

“Yeah, me too. He’s the one who hurt my dad.”

 

“Is he all right? Fred said he wasn’t too badly hurt.”

 

“Yeah, Madam Pomfrey fixed him up. He got blasted into a wall and coshed his head pretty good.”

 

Harry winced. “Ouch.”

 

“Yours looks rather like an ouch as well,” Ron observed.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“Harry, I don’t mean to upset you, but…were you ok? Fighting, I mean? Did it bother you to see the Death Eaters?” Hermione asked.

 

He shrugged again. He didn’t want to admit, even to his two best friends, how badly the battle had affected him. “There was a moment or two, but I managed,” he hedged.

 

Hermione looked doubtful, but Harry was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey. She shooed Hermione and Ron away and went to work on healing Harry’s arm.

 

When he and Remus finally made it back to Grimmauld Place, it was late and Harry was knackered. After assuring Draco, who’d waited up for them, that all was well, Harry went straight to his room, showered, and collapsed into bed. He’d think about what had happened during the battle tomorrow.

 

But his subconscious apparently wanted to deal with it right away and dredged everything up in his dreams. Memories of torture, of pain, of despair. Of hopelessness. Memories of the most recent battle intermixed with the flashes from his time in captivity. Harry tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep. He awoke a little after three am, shaking and scared and unnerved. After lying awake for a while, he calmed himself with Occlumency techniques and managed to get in a couple restless hours of sleep before awaking again shortly after dawn.

 

He was picking at a bowl of cereal when Draco came in for breakfast.

 

“You look like shite, Potter.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Harry said sarcastically.

 

“Apparently you feel like shite, too,” Draco observed, helping himself to some cornflakes.

 

“Just tired. Didn’t sleep well.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Harry shrugged irritably. “I dunno. Just couldn’t sleep, all right? What’s it to you anyway?”

 

Draco raised his brows at Harry’s sharp tone. “Nothing at all, Potter.”

 

Harry picked at his soggy cereal for a few more minutes before dumping the remains and mumbling a goodbye to Draco before leaving the room.

 

Draco pondered Potter’s mood as he finished his tea. He wondered what was bothering the man. Simply a sleepless night? Draco doubted it. He wondered what it had been like for Potter to get a little of his own back against the Death Eaters in that battle. Had he been able to shut everything else out and focus on getting revenge, or had he been reminded of the last time he’d seen people wearing Death Eater masks?

 

Suddenly determined to find out, Draco cleaned up and hunted Potter down in the room they were using for training. Potter was conjuring teacups out of thin air and then blasting them to smithereens with his wand.

 

Draco stood in the doorway and just observed him for a minute as he considered the most effective approach to use. Deciding a little sympathy might work, Draco commented, “I imagine it was quite difficult.”

 

Blasting one final teacup, Potter turned. “What?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Potter. You know very well I’m talking about last night. It’s the first time you’ve seen any Death Eaters since…”

 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

 

Draco sighed. “So the last time you saw them they were cursing you up, down, and sideways. It can’t possibly have been easy for you to see them again.”

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Draco flicked his eyes upward and hastily dropped them back to Potter’s face.

 

“No, it wasn’t,” he finally said grudgingly. “I didn’t mind knocking some of them on their arses. I sent some of them down screaming in pain. I didn’t mind that either.”

 

“So you did get to take a little revenge.”

 

“If I’d really been after revenge, they’d be dead,” Harry retorted shortly.

 

“Why didn’t you kill any of them? I know you could have.”

 

“I’ve never killed before.” Harry hesitated and then asked, “Have you?”

 

Draco watched Harry quietly for a while. He should lie. Telling the truth was risky. It was never wise to admit to committing murder. But…there was something about Potter. Something that he trusted. Before he could talk himself out of it, he simply said, “Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was following an order. They wanted to test me to see if I was capable of performing the Killing Curse. During one of the raids I went on, they grabbed some Muggle woman and told me to kill her.” His heart panged, as it always did when he thought about that night. “I did.”

 

It was Harry’s turn to do some silent watching. “Was it difficult?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m told you have to mean it, to cast an Unforgivable.”

 

“You do.”

 

Another long moment of silence. “You didn’t have a choice.”

 

Draco was surprised by Harry’s comment but didn’t show it. “No, I didn’t. I did what I had to do to save myself. It’s what we Slytherins do.”

 

“I’m not blaming you,” Harry said quietly, again surprising Draco. “I was asking because I’m not sure if I can actually do it. And I’m going to have to.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“I have to kill Voldemort.”

 

Draco’s eyebrows winged up almost into his hairline, and he suddenly recalled a comment Potter had made the night before about facing the Dark Lord. _“You_ have to kill him? Taking on a bit much there, aren’t you?”

 

Harry shook his head. He’d forgotten Malfoy didn’t know about the prophecy.

 

He sighed and quickly made a decision. “I’m going to tell you something in confidence, Malfoy. I need your word you won’t repeat it to anyone.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

Harry nodded, though he wondered a bit at his ability to take Malfoy at his word with no hesitation. “You remember the prophecy Voldemort kept asking me about? The one your dad and the others failed to get from the Department of Mysteries?”

 

“You know it?”

 

“Yes. It’s about me and Voldemort. Basically, he has to kill me, or I have to kill him.”

 

Draco was stunned. The all-important prophecy was setting Potter up to go one-on-one with the Dark Lord?

 

“Why?”

 

Harry sighed again. “Let me tell you the prophecy. Then I’ll explain what I know.”

 

He did so, quoting it word for word before explaining how Voldemort had inadvertently marked him as the “one” from the prophecy when he’d tried to kill him and failed when Harry was a baby:

 

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”*_

 

“Voldemort knew part of the prophecy—just the beginning, that the one who could defeat him would be born at the end of July. He didn’t understand by taking action, he would actually be making things worse for himself.”

 

“Wait—how do you know it? I thought the record was destroyed.”

 

“Trelawney originally made the prophecy to Dumbledore—he showed me his memory in a Pensieve.”

 

“Trelawney made the prophecy? That fraud?” Draco scoffed. “How can you have any faith in it at all?”

 

“Too much of it has already happened. She also made another prophecy related to Voldemort that came true.”

 

Draco pondered this for a few moments.

 

“So all of this training for you, it’s much more than just being prepared to fight in a war. You’re preparing to take on the most powerful Dark wizard in ages. That’s why you’ve been working so hard. That’s why you practice hours everyday. This is literally life or death for you.”

 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Harry said sourly.

 

“Sorry. It’s just…I hadn’t realised.” Draco hesitated. “After all the training we’ve been doing, all the improvement you’ve made at harnessing your power…how are you feeling? Are you more confident?” Draco hoped Potter was confident. Not overly so, that could be bad, but he couldn’t go into a head-to-head duel with the Dark Lord doubting himself.

 

For just a split second, a shadow of…fear? crossed Potter’s face. Then it was replaced by one of great bitterness.

 

“What the hell kind of choice do I have? I have to be.”

 

“But you aren’t,” Draco said perceptively. “Especially not after last night. What happened?”

 

Harry’s expression closed in even more. “Nothing. There was a battle. We won. End of story.”

 

“Oh, bollocks. There’s much more to the story,” Draco argued. “You were injured. You said you were cut. How badly? By what curse? One of the ones used on you before?”

 

Malfoy was relentlessly battering Harry’s walls. Damn him.

 

“It wasn’t bad, I mostly dodged it. And yes, it was a spell I’ve felt many times before. Satisfied?” he snapped.

 

“What happened? When you were hit, what happened?”

 

“I freaked out!” Harry exploded, looking furious with himself. “I lost my shit, all right?”

 

“What did you do?” Malfoy’s voice was calm and quiet.

 

“I…I hid. I fucking hid like a fucking coward.” Harry turned away from Malfoy—he didn’t want to see whatever expression might be on his face, be it pity or disgust or anything else.

 

“You’re the least cowardly person I know,” Draco said in a clipped tone of voice. It wasn’t sympathy that was called for here. “Well, except perhaps for Snape. If you hid, Potter, there was damn good reason for it. And that reason, I’m guessing, is some kind of torture flashback. Am I right?”

 

Draco could see Potter’s back and shoulders lift from a deep inhalation of breath. He still didn’t turn around, but after a moment, he did answer.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And it was a bad one?”

 

“Yes,” Harry bit out.

 

“The worst you’ve had?”

 

“How the hell would you know if I’ve had others?” Potter asked sharply, finally turning back around.

 

Draco studied him. The man looked wrecked—exhaustion and self-loathing were etched on his face.

 

“I don’t see how it’s possible you wouldn’t have had flashbacks. You’ve turned up at breakfast a few times with eyes that look…well, the best word I can think of is _haunted_. And I’ve seen you in training. I’ve seen you flinch; I’ve seen that _look_ come over your face. Oh, you cover it very quickly and cover it very well, so I’ve likely missed it more than I’ve caught it. But I’m here with you day in, day out, and I’ve seen it. And I…” Draco cleared his throat. “I’ve admired your strength at pushing past it.”

 

Harry stared at Draco. He certainly hadn’t ever thought he’d have Malfoy tell him he admired him for anything.

 

“I’m not strong,” Harry denied. “That’s the problem. I’ve got to let it go, get the fuck over it. I’ve got to be able to _fight_ without flipping out like I did last night. It’s exactly what I was afraid would happen.”

 

“You were testing yourself,” Draco realised.

 

Harry kicked at an invisible dust mote on the floor. “Yeah, and I completely fucking failed, didn’t I?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Draco said slowly. “You went. Just going into battle was beating back one demon, I imagine. You fought. You said you got in some good hits. You know what to expect now, what it will feel like, seeing Death Eaters, having them throw curses at you. Now you can…make adjustments. Shore up whatever you perceive to be weaknesses.”

 

Harry considered this. He supposed some progress had been made, even if overall he still felt like a failure. The point Malfoy made about knowing what to expect now…that made sense. He was right. He could better prepare himself now that he knew what it would be like to be faced with curses that had tortured him so many times before.

 

“I guess you aren’t completely wrong,” Harry allowed.

 

Draco smirked. “I’m rarely wrong at all.”

 

Harry smiled a little. “Ah, so speaks the ego of Draco Malfoy.”

 

Draco shrugged a shoulder—gracefully, Harry thought—in acknowledgement. Draco knew he had an ego. He didn’t consider it a fault.

 

“I think you can do this, Potter,” Draco said. “I wish I still had my Death Eater mask—I could wear it while we were training to get you used to seeing it.”

 

As he’d hoped (and why he was hoping it, he didn’t know), Potter barked out a laugh.

 

“You really are something else, Malfoy,” Harry said, shaking his head ruefully.

 

Draco smiled a little. “I try.”

 

“You’ll keep helping me then? What you’ve taught me so far…it came in very useful.”

 

Draco nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

 

“I do,” Harry said firmly. Then he looked at Draco very seriously. “Thank you.”

 

Draco understood he was being thanked for more than being willing to keep practising with Potter. He inclined his head.

 

“You know what? I’m going to go have a lie-down,” Potter said suddenly.

 

“It’s only just gone nine in the morning.”

 

“I know, but I hardly slept at all, and I feel like shite, as you so kindly pointed out earlier. I feel like I could sleep for a bit now. I’ll see you later.”

 

Potter left the room, and Draco listened to him move up the stairs. He had a lot to think about—the prophecy, Potter’s fear and shaky confidence. Yes, a lot to think about.

 

 

_*Quote from the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling._

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 

 

At the next group practise, Draco kept a surreptitious eye on Potter. He noticed Granger would shoot him some concerned glances now and then, but she wasn’t very subtle about it. Draco had made an art of subtlety and knew no one noticed him watching Potter. Overall, Potter was handling himself well. Draco’s practise with Potter tended to focus more on spells that wouldn’t be used in combat, or on offensive spells, ones in which he could harness some of that significant power he had to do some serious damage. Potter’d shown excellent progress under his tutelage, if Draco did say so himself. The more they worked together, the more Draco was impressed by the amount of power Potter could wield. Potter’s skills using Dark magic were surprising until you considered his power—Draco just found it ironic that the hero of the Light side, the conqueror of the Dark Lord, was really damn good at casting Dark spells. The group sessions still tended to focus more on defence, which Draco figured gave Potter a nice balance. And he was glad it was a group-training day—he figured having Potter see for himself that he _could_ defend himself might boost that flagging confidence.

 

Draco had to admit he’d learned quite a bit from Lupin—more than he’d expected. For someone who didn’t support or use the Dark Arts, he sure knew a lot about them. And he taught them some defensive spells Draco’d never seen or heard of. All the better, as far as Draco was concerned. If he ever did have to fight one day—and he highly doubted he could avoid it—he did feel a little more confident in his own abilities.

 

Draco was pleased to note that as the practise wore on, he saw Potter become more decisive, use more of that power they’d been working on. It relieved him. Now that he knew this war depended on Potter—Merlin help them all—he wanted the man to be as skilled a duellist as magically possible.

 

They took a short break, and Draco risked Weasley’s wrath by sidling up to Potter and asking, “Feeling any better?”

 

Potter looked up from pouring a glass of water in surprise. Then his expression changed to one of consideration. “Yeah, come to think of it, I am. I guess the practise has helped.”

 

“Good,” Draco said, nodding. He moved away before Weasley accused him of putting a potion in Potter’s water.

 

They wrapped up practise an hour later. After a shower, Draco took some time to work on the Apparition Hoops. He’d figured out a faster way to duplicate them, but it was still very slow going. The spells he used were quite complex, and he had to brew complicated potions in which to dip the metal hoops to imbue them with necessary strength and magic. He was also experimenting with some improvements. He’d made two more and was working on a third. It got a little faster, a little easier each time.

 

The first time he and Potter practised alone after the Hogsmeade battle, Draco didn’t hold back. Potter didn’t need to be babied; he needed to be challenged, so he could force his abilities to improve, and as a result, his sureness.

 

The practise had been rather intense, and Draco was knackered by the time it ended. But he had one last thing he wanted to test Potter on: constant vigilance, as the bastard Moody liked to say. When Potter turned his back to him, he took the opportunity.

 

_“Rictusempra!”_

Potter immediately doubled over clutching his sides, laughing. For some reason, seeing Potter grinning as he giggled uncontrollably caused a surprising little bolt of happiness to flash through Draco.

 

 _“Fin—finite incantatem,”_ Potter gasped out. Wheezing, he straightened up and gave Draco a mock-glare.

 

“Just keeping you on your toes. Never know who’s behind you when your back is turned,” Draco said smugly. “And I’ve owed you for that since second year.”

  
“Well, you’re gonna pay for it,” Harry said menacingly, but the smile belied the seriousness of his tone. Seeing his sneaky sparring partner take a step back, he swept out a hand and knocked Malfoy to the ground with a Trip Jinx—then pounced.

 

Draco had pitched backward, cursing the fact that Potter had gotten so good at wandless magic. Before he could scramble up or otherwise defend himself, Potter was on top of him, tickling his ribs ruthlessly. Draco couldn’t help himself—he howled with laughter.

 

Harry was laughing too, a huge shit-eating grin on his face as he watched Draco Malfoy, Ice Prince of Slytherin, dissolve into helpless laughter. Malfoy rarely laughed and never like this. Harry liked it.

 

After minute or so of the benign torture, Harry asked, “Do you give?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Draco gasped, not caring about surrendering so easily to Potter. “I give!”

 

Potter removed his fingers from Draco’s ribs after one last tickle. They lay together, breathing heavily, with matching grins on their faces. As the laughter died away, so did the smiles. Potter was half-lying on top of Draco, a fact Draco was suddenly very aware of. Their faces were inches apart. Time seemed to stand still as the two men stared at each other.

 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He was very aware of the hard, male body under his—something he hadn’t felt in far too long. Dazed grey eyes held his gaze. Without conscious thought, he lowered his head a little.

 

That abruptly broke the spell for Draco. “Potter, get off of me,” he said, his voice a bit gruff.

 

“What? Oh, yeah, right, sorry.” Harry rolled away and to his feet. He stretched out a hand to help Draco up, but Draco ignored it. No way he was touching Potter right then.

 

“I’ve, uh, got to run to the loo,” Draco said lamely and then walked as fast as he could out of the room.

 

Closing the door to the bathroom behind him, he leaned against it in utter confusion. What the hell had just happened back there? Could Potter actually be attracted to him? No, it was impossible. Potter might be able to be friendly with a Malfoy but never…

 

That charged moment in the training room, however, led Draco to believe otherwise. There had been other clues—the way Potter had looked at him that time he caught Draco coming from the shower wearing only a towel, the way he sometimes caught Potter studying his face or just Draco in general. Potter would usually put it down to daydreaming or thinking if Draco said anything but…he wondered. And now—Draco had definitely seen Potter’s eyes darken, felt his body tense, seen his head lower as if he were going to—Draco could hardly even think the words they were so preposterous—to kiss him.

 

The bigger problem was that he had been right there with Potter. He’d been caught up in that moment. He hadn’t shoved Potter off him right away when he’d stopped tickling him. He’d fallen into those brilliant green eyes, his mind wiped clear of any thought at all. He wondered idly how long he’d actually been lying there with Potter’s body pressed against him. It had felt like…well, it had felt much longer than it probably had been.

 

He wasn’t attracted to Potter. He _wasn’t._ It was laughable. Draco Malfoy, interested in Harry Potter. It had just been some sort of…aberration. They’d been playing around—another thing to ponder, goofing off with Potter—and ended up physically close to one another. They were both healthy seventeen-year-olds, neither of who had any outlet for sexual need other than their own hands. It had just...it was just one of those weird things that couldn’t really be explained but meant nothing at all. Draco was going to put it firmly out of mind, act like nothing had happened, which in reality was the truth as nothing _had_ happened. But he might make a conscious effort to stay a little farther away from Potter the next few days. Just in case.

 

 

******

 

 

Harry felt like he’d been hit by the Jelly-Legs Jinx and sat right down on the floor.

 

Holy shit, had that just happened? Had he actually been tempted to kiss Draco Malfoy? He wanted to believe he’d imagined it, but as he could still feel the imprint of Malfoy’s body against his, it was rather hard to deny it. He remembered seeing Malfoy in just a towel and the resulting wank in the shower. But he’d later put that down to an appreciation of an appealing male body and general horniness as opposed to an actual interest in the man who owned said body. But he couldn’t deny he’d looked at Malfoy a few times and felt something a lot more complicated than a superficial friendship. Maybe he really did feel a bond with Malfoy since he’d rescued him. Harry had even said that to Malfoy. Maybe his recent dearth of sexual activity had simply combined somehow with the bond and caused him to feel…lust? Lust for Malfoy?

 

But that didn’t explain the fact that whatever had passed between them had definitely not been one-sided. He’d seen interest in Malfoy’s eyes—he was sure of it. Malfoy hadn’t practically run to get away from Harry because he was disgusted—he’d done so because he’d felt at least a little of what Harry had felt. A wanting. A temptation.

 

Well, regardless of what either of them may or may not have felt, it wouldn’t ever happen again. It couldn’t. It was just a fluke. One of those bizarre situations where too many separate factors came together simultaneously and caused something strange to happen. That was all. He’d just ignore it. He was sure Malfoy would as well. That was for the best. It was the only way to handle it.

 

But deep down inside, Harry couldn’t deny he was very curious to know what would have happened if he had kissed Malfoy…

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

 

 

The next couple of days were a bit awkward. Malfoy seemed intent on ignoring Harry; he didn’t speak or otherwise interact with Harry except out of necessity. Harry just tried to act normal, as if nothing had ever happened. But obviously they weren’t doing as good a job of playing it cool as Harry hoped since Remus asked him what was going on.

 

“Have you had a fight?” Remus asked.

 

“Uh, no, not really,” Harry hedged.

 

Remus lifted his brows. “Then what’s with the dancing around each other and strange silences? I’ve gotten used to the two of you being fairly comfortable around each other.”

 

“Well, there was a—a minor…incident the other day,” Harry explained lamely, scrambling for some kind of plausible excuse. “No big deal, we’re not really angry, just a little, you know, er, still working it out, I guess. I’m sure it will all be fine soon. Back to normal.” He forced a laugh. “As normal as anything ever is in my life.”

 

Remus regarded him suspiciously. Harry cursed himself for babbling on like that. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry.”

 

“All right,” Remus said. “If you say so.”

 

He’d dropped it, to Harry’s immense relief. He vowed to do a better job at being casual around Malfoy and putting the entire near-kiss moment out of his mind.

 

But it didn’t work very well. Harry was always very aware when Malfoy was near him—not that it happened that often outside of training and meals, as Malfoy seemed intent on being as far away as possible from Harry at all times. Oh, he was polite. But he was also very distant. It struck Harry that he’d started to interact with Malfoy as a real friend. He was actually starting to like the guy. Malfoy had a biting sense of humour that amused Harry to no end now that he was used to it, he was clever, and he was rather good-looking, though Harry kept trying not to notice that.

 

They obviously did a good enough job at their little “we-get-along-fine” charade as none of Harry’s friends seemed to notice a difference in how he acted. He guessed he already subconsciously curbed his friendliness toward Malfoy around the others. When it was just Malfoy and Remus, he loosened up a little more, let himself relax. Which is why, he supposed, Remus had noticed something when even Hermione seemed oblivious to any tension between he and Malfoy.

 

Ron and Hermione would generally either come by early or stay a while after their training sessions just to hang out with Harry. Their visits were providing him with a welcome distraction from his thoughts about Malfoy. Ron seemed to have adopted the “it’s better to say nothing at all” approach in regard to Malfoy, but Hermione occasionally would ask Harry if he was still getting along with Malfoy well enough to stand living together in the same house. Harry always assured her everything was fine and said nothing more, though he was starting to feel a little guilty because he and Malfoy were getting along much better than simply being polite around each other. Well, they had been.

 

“Did you hear about the attack in that Muggle town last night?” Ron asked.

 

“Yeah, Remus must have heard about it from someone last night because he told me first thing this morning.” Harry shook his head. “Five dead. Two houses burned. It’s getting worse, and it’s so frustrating not to be able to do anything when Snape isn’t able to warn us in advance. Sometimes I’m tempted not to use Occlumency when I feel my scar twinge, or before I go to sleep, just to see if I can get a peek at what Voldemort is planning.”

 

“Oh, you can’t, Harry!” Hermione protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

 

Harry waved away her concern. “I know, I know. I’m not actually doing it.” Though he was still strongly tempted to risk it.

 

“Is your scar hurting a lot?” Ron asked.

 

“No, not really. It always makes me paranoid when it does though, and I keep expecting to get a message about an attack for several hours afterwards. It doesn’t seem to be coinciding with the small attacks that have been happening though. So I don’t know what it means. Maybe Voldemort is trying to break through and failing.”

 

“I’m so glad Professor Dumbledore taught you Occlumency,” Hermione said fervently.

 

“Yeah, better him doing it than Snape,” Ron added.

 

“Yeah, that was a right disaster,” Harry laughed. “And I’m glad I know it, too. It’s been nice not having splitting headaches or seeing through Voldemort’s eyes.” And, he added to himself, it had saved his life when Voldemort had wanted to know the prophecy.

 

Hermione shuddered. “I still can’t imagine.”

 

Harry shrugged. He’d tried to explain to the both of them what it was like when his and Voldemort’s minds collided, but he hadn’t been able to put it into words very well.

 

“I’ve been doing some research,” Hermione said, to Harry’s complete lack of surprise. “I still can’t find anything that suggests how Voldemort can be killed so we’re sure he can’t come back again.”

 

“I’ve been doing some reading, too,” Harry said. “Can’t find anything. It’s hard to know what I’m looking for, since no one knows what happened when he tried to kill me and got zapped instead. I mean, he wasn’t killed then, but he wasn’t human after that either. I’m not sure he’s fully human now.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Hermione agreed. “I’ve looked up information about love as a shield like Dumbledore believes is what saved you, but there really isn’t much out there.”

 

“I’ve been looking for a curse that does something deadly to a person’s soul or completely destroys the body,” Harry explained. “The Killing Curse might kill him, but if we could take care of his physical body, or even do something to his soul, I don’t think he could come back.”

 

“Does he even still have a soul?” Ron wondered.

 

“Good question,” Harry remarked.

 

They continued discussing their research, and Ron told them about the products he was helping his brothers make. Some of them sounded pretty potent. They talked about the war in general, the deaths, the injuries, and the fear.

 

“Did you hear?” Ron asked eventually, changing the subject. “Seamus broke up with Hannah Abbott. Not surprising, really. Never did see what they had in common.”

 

“True,” Harry agreed, happy to talk about something other than the war. “She’s pretty quiet, and Seamus is just so…Seamus. Any other gossip?”

 

“You know Dean and Ginny are back together, right?” Hermione asked. Ron scowled a little, too much of a big brother to ever really like anyone dating his little sister.

 

“Yeah, she told me last week,” Harry answered. He grinned at Ron. “I think they make a lovely couple, don’t you?”

 

Ron gave him a sour look. “I’d still rather she be with you.”

 

“She’s got tits, and I haven’t been really interested in that particular body part in a while,” Harry reminded him, ignoring Hermione’s slap on the arm for his choice of words.

 

“You haven’t? So you’re thinking you’re gay now rather than bisexual?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah.” He thought of how his body had reacted to Malfoy’s and figured that was a pretty big clue. Out of all the blokes in the world, if he were attracted to _Malfoy_ , he must definitely prefer men.

 

“Maybe we should set you up with someone, Harry,” Hermione suggested.

 

“Who? Other than Finch-Fletchley and that fifth-year Ravenclaw, I don’t know of any gay guys at Hogwarts.”

 

“And you aren’t interested in either of them?”

 

“Nah. Not my type.”

 

“Well, what is your type?”

 

Harry’s first thought was “tall with blond hair and grey eyes,” but he immediately squelched it. “Umm, not really sure if I have one, per se. I just know I’m not interested in Justin or that other bloke.”

 

“Not any gingers, I hope,” Ron commented.

 

Harry grinned. “Hey, I did like your sister. Maybe I could be interested in another redhead.”

 

“Well, unless there’s something I don’t know about one of my brothers, I think you’re out of luck with my family, mate. Straight all around.”

 

Harry sighed dramatically. “I’m gutted.”

 

Ron threw a pillow at him, and they all laughed. It was good to laugh. It was something Harry appreciated more and more as the war dragged on.

 

 

*************************************************************************

 

 

Harry and Draco met for training the next day. After a strenuous workout during which Harry had been pleased to finally not notice any awkwardness between them, they finished up for the day. Draco left the room first but returned almost immediately as he’d forgotten his jumper. They’d both worked up quite a sweat while training, and he’d taken it off to continue duelling in just his shirtsleeves. He walked in the door and froze in his tracks.

 

Potter was stripping off his shirt.

 

Draco just stared. He’d never seen Potter without a shirt—it was winter, so people didn’t generally go walking around half-dressed. And he liked what he saw. He let his eyes roam across the scattering of dark hair on the planes of Potter’s chest, the flat stomach, and the little happy trail disappearing into Potter’s jeans. The idea of running his hands over that chest made his breath catch. Even the sight of faint scars did nothing to lessen his interest.

 

He was still staring when Potter looked around and caught him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then Draco shook off the spell he was under. Breaking eye contact, he went to walk past Potter as if nothing had happened. Potter grabbed his arm.

 

When Draco looked at him, Harry whispered, “Aren’t you curious?” His eyes roamed Draco’s face before settling on his mouth. “I know I am.”

 

Draco said nothing, not even when Harry leaned into him. There was the slightest hesitation, and then their lips met.

 

The first instant of contact electrified them both. A soft brushing of lips instantly turned hot and demanding. Their teeth clacked together as they fought for dominance. Harry thrust his tongue into Draco’s mouth and explored it eagerly, holding his head in place with his hand. Their noses bumped together as they changed angles, taking the kiss even deeper. They kissed the way they had once fought—passionately. Draco’s lips were warm and soft and moving urgently against Harry’s own. Harry heard himself moan and didn’t care. He was drowning.

 

Draco wasn’t any better off. His brain stopped functioning, and his carnal instincts took over. He demanded entrance to Harry’s mouth with his tongue and received it. The thrill of Harry’s tongue stroking demandingly against his own made him want to shudder. His tongue licked along the inside of Harry’s cheek as he ran his hands down that chest and then gripped Harry’s hips. He felt Harry’s hand tighten on his arm and knew he was affected just as strongly. This was no shy first kiss; it was raw and wet and consuming.

 

But when he heard Harry moan, Draco’s brain clicked back into gear. He suddenly became aware of what he was doing and with whom he was doing it. Draco pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss.

 

For a long, long moment they stood there staring at each other, breathing heavily, lips reddened from the delicious assault.

 

“I can’t,” Draco said in a whisper. Then again more strongly: “I can’t.”

 

He was gone before Harry could do anything more than blink.

 

 

***********************************************************************************

 

 

Harry had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the empty doorway. Holy fucking shit, he’d just kissed Draco Malfoy. _He’d just kissed Draco Malfoy._ He’d just kissed a fucking Death Eater. Well, sort of a Death Eater. A Death Eater spy who’d had to do some very Death Eater-y things in order to maintain his cover—like use the Cruciatus on Harry.

 

He’d just kissed a boy who’d been his enemy his entire school career, a boy who’d lived to torment him. Harry couldn’t believe he was standing there, having just _snogged_ Malfoy. And wanting to do it again. Wanting to do a lot more than just snog.

 

It hadn’t just been any kiss either; he thought it had been the best kiss of his life. Edgy and wild and powerful. How could this have happened?

 

Once again, Harry rationalised the situation. He hadn’t had sex in ages. He saw Malfoy all the time. He was the only male even possibly available in Harry’s world at the moment. It was natural he’d develop some kind of…feelings for someone in that situation, wasn’t it? More of a lack-of-choice attraction than a real attraction.

 

‘This is a bad idea,’ Harry thought wildly. ‘A very bad idea. It can’t happen again. I can’t get involved in any way with Malfoy. It’s just crazy.’

 

His mind kept telling himself this was all a huge mistake, but his body was telling him something completely different. It was telling him to chase Malfoy down and snog him again. Well, that wasn’t happening. But it did look like he’d be wanking to thoughts of a man with white-blond hair again…

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

Life-long training kept Draco from slamming the door to his room behind him, but it was a close call. Sweet Merlin, he’d just kissed Harry Potter. _He’d just kissed Harry Potter._ The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Saint Potter, the hero. The annoying prat he’d enjoyed tormenting for half his childhood. The enigmatic man he was just starting to get to know as a person rather than a hated name.

 

And what a kiss! He’d always been curious as to what it would be like to kiss a man. Now he knew. And unfortunately, he now also knew he liked it. A lot. And he liked doing it with Potter.

 

He didn’t know it of course, but his thoughts began to run along the same lines as Harry’s—he began to try and come up with any plausible reason why it had happened. He was horny as hell. He hadn’t had sex since before becoming a Death Eater. He certainly hadn’t had sex since he was forced to start hanging out with the Death Eaters full time—not only was there no one else anywhere near his age, but he just wouldn’t have had sex with a Death Eater, no matter how desperate he was.

 

Perhaps this was Potter’s idea of revenge. Draco had done his best to make Potter’s life miserable for years, so perhaps he was playing some kind of game or trick. Draco disregarded the idea almost as soon as he had it. It hadn’t felt planned or calculated. Potter wasn’t as bad at deception as he’d once thought, but the man wasn’t that good at hiding that kind of plot from a Slytherin. And it just wasn’t Potter’s style.

 

And it wasn’t like it had happened out of the blue. Not really. There had been looks. There had been that near-kiss just recently. One he’d told himself had never happened, but of course it had. And one he’d been thinking about a lot.

 

That was it. He just had Potter stuck in his mind. They were living in each other’s pockets. He was the only person he spent any appreciable time with at all, other than Lupin, and that wasn’t the same. Something like this happening wasn’t so foreign a notion. It was just one of those things.

 

One of those things that could never happen again, Draco told himself firmly. Messing around with Potter would only bring himself more trouble, and he had plenty to be going on with, thank you very much. He’d simply put the matter out of his mind. Ignore it. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Perhaps Potter would too. Potter couldn’t be any more comfortable with the idea of kissing him than he was with kissing Potter. He hoped Potter would let it drop, but knowing the stubborn Gryffindor he’d probably want to _talk_ about it. He’d just have to dissuade him of that notion.

 

Maybe it was time to take a step back. Put things back more like they used to be. He’d gotten awfully friendly with Potter. It wouldn’t be so difficult to make a few snide comments, spend less time socialising, and keep more aloof. He could do that. He’d already started doing it to an extent. It was the best plan of action. Best for both him and Potter. Yes, it was definitely time to take a step back.

 

After he took care of his raging erection.

 

 

*****

 

 

Hoping he wouldn’t catch Malfoy out in the corridor, Harry slipped up to his room. He didn’t think running into Remus downstairs would be such a good idea at the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no one upstairs. After shutting his door quietly behind him, he headed to the shower. Not only did he need one after training, it was a good place to toss off.

 

He could tell Potter had been trying to be quiet, but Draco’s sharp ears heard him anyway. And it only heightened his arousal knowing the man he was currently fantasising about—against his best efforts—was right across the way. Forbidden.

 

Stretched out on his bed, he ran his hand firmly up and down his cock, the warm lube allowing his hand to glide easily. He gave himself permission—just this once—to imagine Potter’s face, his body. He imagined it was Potter’s hand sliding up and down his shaft. The thought of Potter’s hands on his body, the remembered feeling of his own hands on Potter’s body, had Draco’s hand speeding up. And the kiss. The feel of Potter’s tongue plundering his mouth, the way he’d tasted, the way they’d damn near devoured each other…Draco fondled his balls and groaned. Should he…?

 

He slid his hand down and circled his puckered hole tentatively. A bolt of heat instantly shot to his groin. As he pushed one long finger inside, Draco moaned. Pumping it slowly in and out, he continued stroking himself with his other hand and marvelled at how fucking _good_ it felt. The additional stimulation, along with the thought of doing something just a bit dirty, had Draco jumping to the brink of orgasm very quickly. The idea of it being Potter’s cock thrusting in and out of his arse pushed him over the edge. He came hard, and the feeling of ecstasy seemed to go on forever. Draco’s hands froze for just a moment and then he began wringing the final bits of pleasure from himself by continuing to pull at his cock while visualising Potter coming inside him. When he finally came down from the high, breathing raggedly, he was as limp as a noodle. He hadn’t gotten that much pleasure from self-stimulation in…well, maybe ever. He cursed his body and his mind and his own luck. Why the hell did it have to be thoughts of Potter that got him off so spectacularly? Draco snorted. Because it was always Potter who was fucking with his life. Always.

 

 

*****

 

 

Draco didn’t go down for dinner. He didn’t dare. If he got hungry, he’d go down for some leftovers or a sandwich later. Once he pulled himself together, he’d be able to face Potter, but he wasn’t quite ready yet.

 

Harry tried to chat with Remus during dinner, but it was a little weird with it just being the two of them. Remus questioned Harry again about what was going on, but Harry told him, a little more brusquely than he’d intended, that it was something between the two of them, and they’d work it out in time. Remus had given him an appraising look but again let it drop.

 

The next morning was the first time things got a little sticky. Draco purposely got up early to have breakfast before Potter, as Potter wasn’t the earliest of risers. He was putting bread in the toaster when Potter walked in. The tension that filled the room was palpable.

 

“Er, good morning,” Harry said tentatively. He’d woken early and couldn’t go back to sleep. He’d never dreamed Malfoy would also be up so early.

 

He moved quickly to fill the kettle with water to give himself something to do. Then he got out some eggs. He hesitated—how many should he make? Normally he’d automatically make some for Malfoy and Remus.

 

“Ah, I’m going to fry up some eggs. Do you, um, want any?”

 

Malfoy didn’t even bother to look in his direction. “No.”

 

Harry hesitated again before stepping to the cooker, as doing so would put him standing rather close to Malfoy, who was still waiting for his toast. Malfoy took a step away from him. So that was how it was going to be.

 

“Listen, Malfoy,” he started awkwardly, “about yesterday…”

 

“Not another word, Potter,” Draco said sharply.

 

“But—”

 

“Shut up,” Draco said coldly. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say another word.”

 

Draco snatched up his toast as soon as it was ready, not caring if he burned his fingers. He quickly slathered on some butter, grabbed an apple, and hurried out of the kitchen.

 

Harry let out a deep breath. Well, fuck. That had gone about as poorly as possible. Well, Malfoy could have hexed him, so he supposed it could have been worse. Obviously Malfoy was pissed off at him. Not really fair of him to blame what happened entirely on me, Harry thought resentfully. Malfoy’d been just as involved in that kiss as he had. Maybe Malfoy was pissed off at himself, too.

 

Harry set about cooking up some eggs and bacon. It kept his hands busy even if he couldn’t stop his mind from thinking. Was everything ruined between them now? Would they even be able to be civil to one another? He found himself a bit bothered by the idea of going back to snide remarks and taunts with Malfoy. He enjoyed spending time with him. He actually liked him—mostly. In an effort to remind himself of why he hadn’t liked Malfoy at all until just recently, he tried to think of every rotten thing Malfoy had done to him in the past. That was it. If Malfoy continued to be hostile, he’d just keep thoughts of fifth-year in his mind, and he wouldn’t have a problem zinging Malfoy back.

 

When Remus came in, Harry pasted on a smile and served breakfast.

 

Draco made himself scarce the rest of the day. He didn’t care that he was being obvious in his avoidance of Potter—that few minutes alone with him that morning had been plenty. He only hoped Potter heeded his warning and didn’t try to bring up the kiss again. If he did, he’d be tempted to get nasty. Draco had to forcibly remind himself that he was still dependent on the Order’s goodwill if he wanted to survive the war. He couldn’t start his own private war with Potter. He’d be signing his own death warrant if Potter made them chuck him out.

 

The next morning at breakfast, Draco was ready. When Potter came in, looking rather sleepy, Draco nodded to him and continued to eat his oatmeal. There—he’d been civil.

 

As Potter puttered around the kitchen putting something together to eat, Draco said casually, “I don’t think we need to keep training together anymore. You know what to do now and can work on it on your own or with Lupin if you still need to.”

 

Potter narrowed his eyes at him. “Is that so?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said with careful nonchalance. “I need to keep working on making more of the Apparition Hoops, and I’ve a few ideas for some other things I’d like the time to try. Pomfrey mentioned needing some more pain-relieving potion at the last meeting. I can easily make that and some other potions.”

 

“And it would be a better use of your time than working with me,” Potter said neutrally.

 

“I’ve not minded working with you,” Draco said, which was true. “But yes, now that you know what to do, I think I could be more useful doing other things.”

 

“Very well,” Potter said. “Good luck with the…other things.” He turned back to the sausage he was frying in a pan.

 

Draco wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed that Potter hadn’t argued with him about dropping their practise sessions. He resolutely pushed aside any idea of feeling disappointed. His plan had worked, and he’d gotten what he wanted: time away from Potter that no one would question.

 

They ate in silence at the kitchen table. Remus came in just as Draco was leaving. They wished each other good morning and then Draco left.

 

 

*****

 

Harry had felt unaccountably disappointed when Malfoy had summarily dismissed their training time together. Oh, he knew quite well what Malfoy was doing: distancing himself from Harry. The fact that he’d been so polite about it led Harry to believe that perhaps Malfoy was distancing himself because he was afraid he’d be tempted if he was around Harry too much. If he’d simply been pissed off or disgusted by what had happened between them, he would have started in on Harry. He just knew it. Malfoy would have used anger and his sharp tongue to demand Harry keep away from him. He likely would have still refused to continue training, but he wouldn’t have done it politely. That was how Malfoy operated.

 

The good thing about cancelling the training sessions was that Harry was more easily able to separate himself from Malfoy as well. That was for the best. He’d decided that nothing could ever come of that kiss, hadn’t he? He’d been up half the night thinking everything to death. He’d told himself that getting involved with a former Death Eater was too foolish to even think about. He’d be setting himself up for trouble and pain in some shape or form in the future. It was insane.

 

But he couldn’t stop thinking about that damn _kiss._

 

Why did it always have to be Malfoy stirring up trouble in his life? Why couldn’t he have developed an attraction to some other bloke— _any_ other bloke. Ron would be better than—no. Harry disregarded that thought as nauseating. Malfoy was better than Ron, but he was still a horrible choice. Look at his father. Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire. One of the cream of Voldemort’s crop. Harry shuddered to think of how many people the man had killed or tortured in his life. The man certainly had enjoyed torturing _him._ How far could an apple really fall from a tree? He knew quite well that Draco Malfoy could be a right bastard. Like father, like son, the saying went. There was a reason for that saying.

 

But Malfoy had changed to an extent, his mind insistently reminded him. He had turned away from Voldemort. Had professed not to have ever wanted to join the Death Eaters. He was a member of the Order and was working to help defeat Voldemort. He wasn’t nasty with Harry anymore; he was rather…well, Harry wouldn’t say the word “nice” really applied to Malfoy, but he was pleasant and fun to be around, in a quiet sort of way. He wasn’t anything like the Weasleys, boisterous and loud and big. But that didn’t mean Harry didn’t have a good time with Draco. He did. It was just a different sort of good time.

 

Harry cursed himself. He’d promised himself last night he’d stop obsessing about Malfoy. And here he was, doing it again. He needed to find something to do, to occupy his mind. After he ate, he decided to search for a book full of the blackest Dark Arts he could find—he was going to find something to end Voldemort.

 

 

***************************************************************************************

 

 

Life at Grimmauld Place was rather tense for the next few days. Malfoy kept to himself, and when he was around, often made biting little comments—the nasty kind like he had made before he and Harry had gotten friendly. He’d made a few snide comments about stupid Muggles, had cut himself off from saying “Mudblood” with a falsely apologetic look on his face, and had been generally unpleasant. Not to any extreme but just enough so that Harry tired rather quickly of being around him—which he supposed was Malfoy’s goal. It didn’t help that the full moon happened during this time. They didn’t even have Remus as a buffer between them during the full moon. Malfoy had been edgy the first time it had happened after they all started staying together; this time he had made a comment (out of Remus’ hearing) that “the werewolf” had best remember to take his Wolfsbane, or he’d be facing the wrong end of his wand.

 

It had been Malfoy ending up on the wrong side of Harry’s wand, though; Harry’d hit him with a hex that sent a little electric jolt through the body—not dangerous but not enjoyable either. Malfoy had seemed to realise he’d taken things too far and had left the room quickly. Harry wondered if he’d imagined it, or if it was just wishful thinking, but he thought he saw a look of regret pass over Malfoy’s face for a split second.

 

Harry kept telling himself that Malfoy reverting back to his former less-than-pleasant personality was a good thing. It sure made it easier for Harry to stay away from him. Harry didn’t always let Draco have the last word—he could give as good as he got. He usually tried to hold his tongue with the goal of keeping the peace, but occasionally Malfoy wormed his way just a bit too far under his skin, and he’d snap out something scathing in response to one of his remarks. Remus was confused by all of this, and Harry had finally come up with a story about them having a disagreement about blood status—he figured that was a logical argument that would put him and Malfoy at odds. It certainly had before. It seemed to mostly satisfy Remus’ curiosity. But it got Harry wondering about where Malfoy did currently stand on the issue. It was something they had never discussed.

 

But Harry regretted losing the Malfoy he’d gotten to know and like over the past month or so. The one with the same biting wit but just without the nasty edge. The one whose dry observations about life at Hogwarts and the wizarding world made him laugh. The one who could actually challenge him in a duel. The one who was intelligent and could discuss the things Harry read about in books during the day. It made Harry a little sad.

 

And for whatever perverse reason, his libido didn’t seem put off by Malfoy’s change in personality. It still sat up and took notice whenever Malfoy was around. Which was very annoying, considering that Harry was trying very hard _not_ to notice Malfoy in that way. He’d never found Malfoy attractive when he’d been an arse the last seven years he’d known him—why wasn’t he turned off now?

 

‘Because you know it’s an act. At least with you, it’s all an act,’ the voice in the back of Harry’s mind told him. And he knew it to be true. And he also knew he didn’t like it at all.

 

 

********************************************************************

 

 

Draco found going back to his old ways around Harry Potter to be far more difficult than he’d imagined. He’d thought it would be simple to slip on his masks of indifference or disdain again. But he found they didn’t quite fit any more and were rather uncomfortable. He continually had to make a conscious effort to maintain his standoffish and prickly personality. Who would have thought it would be difficult to hate Potter? How had Potter changed so quickly from hated enemy to…friend?

 

He felt isolated and alone—just as he had all those months with the Death Eaters. Granted, he wasn’t in fear for his life on a daily basis, which was quite an improvement, but he still felt bereft. When the Dark Lord—Voldemort—had forced him to leave school, he’d been panicked. Dumbledore was supposed to help him. How could he do that if Draco wasn’t at Hogwarts? Then he’d felt abandoned by everyone except his mother and Snape. And Snape was rarely around. He popped up for meetings periodically, and would always check in with Draco, but it was pretty infrequent. That was why he’d been so unsure of what to do when he’d returned to Hogwarts with Potter’s broken and bleeding body. As far as he knew, Dumbledore _had_ forgotten him, betrayed him. Living in an environment in which danger and suspicion and paranoia were the norm had only served to make him warier than ever.

 

Draco felt almost as lonely now as he did then. It was a different kind of loneliness to be sure, but he still didn’t enjoy it. He even missed talking to Lupin. He hadn’t started being rude to the man or anything—it took all his effort to do that just with Potter—but he had been keeping more to himself and had cut back on idle chitchat.

 

He found he also had time to obsess on what was going on out in the world. What had happened to his mother? He didn’t allow himself to think of her often—it was too painful. He was afraid she was dead, punishment for his own betrayal. There was a chance she was still alive. A chance she wasn’t being held prisoner and tortured. Perhaps she had finally gone into hiding as Draco had urged her to do before. She’d refused to leave him. But perhaps now she’d done the intelligent thing and hidden herself away, maybe on the continent. Draco could only hope. She was the only person who’d ever loved him unconditionally, and the only person he’d ever really loved in return. Even when he’d worshipped his father, Draco understood now he hadn’t really loved him any more than his father loved him. Draco had feared his father, respected him, but hadn’t felt love for him. Now he just hated him. And perhaps still feared him. Lucius Malfoy was a frightening man.

 

The attacks were growing bolder, more frequent, and more vicious. They were losing this war. Oh, when the Order or the Aurors were able to get to the site of an attack in time, they usually were able to end it quickly. But Voldemort wasn’t giving out much information, even to Snape, and all of the attacks were surprise ones, launched at the last moment. If they weren’t forewarned, they had to scramble to respond. And when they did, the attacks were usually rather surgical—in and out as fast as possible with the maximum damage possible. How did they fight against that?

 

It didn’t escape Draco’s notice that he now included himself in the “they” that was the Order and Potter’s side in general. Perhaps it was Potter’s influence, but Draco felt more comfortable considering himself as a real member of the resistance now rather than a not-so-innocent bystander forced into the melee.

 

Another thing curtailing his social time with Potter and Lupin had done was given him plenty of opportunity to think. He’d done a lot of thinking before he’d been Marked. He’d come to the conclusion he didn’t believe everything his father and Voldemort espoused as “the only way.” Did he like Mudbloods? No. Did he want to murder them all? No, he didn’t. Did he feel pure-bloods were still superior to other wizards? Yes. Did he believe the way to “perfect and protect” their world was to rid it of all but pure-bloods? Hell, no. He wasn’t stupid. He understood biology. If they eliminated everyone but pure-bloods, the pure-bloods would eventually die out. Pure-blood couples already tended to only have one child. Or the pure-bloods would intermarry so much that something negative would happen to their offspring—like weakened magical power. Look at Crabbe and Goyle and Parkinson. And Weasley. They were all weaker than their parents— well, he didn’t know how strong Weasley’s parents were, but Ron Weasley certainly wasn’t anything special in his opinion. He didn’t like to think of it, but he wondered if it had to do with the limited gene pool. He felt fortunate knowing he had escaped that genetic pitfall.

 

He didn’t like Mudbloods, but he reluctantly suspected they were necessary for the continuation of the wizarding world. Did he plan to marry one? _No._ Would he marry a half-blood? Perhaps. At one point in his life his answer would have been no to anything but marrying a pure-blood. But the more he thought about things, the more he was forced to realise having blood that wasn’t one hundred per cent pure might not be a bad thing. He had multiple examples he could cite. Look at Granger. She was a Mudblood—Muggle-born—and she was pretty good at magic. She was a swot and depended upon books and practise as opposed to following her instincts, but she was good. There was Snape—a half-blood. No need to debate if he was talented. And according to Potter and Lupin, the Dark—Voldemort was a half-blood! Potter’s blood was more “pure” than Voldemort’s—at least Potter had two magical parents. He could think of many other examples from the Hogwarts student body to support the idea that non-pure blood did not equate to lack of power.

 

And then there was Potter, the half-blood with more power than any pure-blood Draco’d ever met, including his father. The half-blood who had been raised as a Muggle, not even knowing he was a wizard, was better at magic than his peers who’d been raised within the wizarding community. And it was innate. Potter studied now, Draco knew he did, but Potter had admitted to him that he’d always preferred doing magic based on how it felt rather than dissecting it all out in advance. Draco figured he himself was a combination of both. He used knowledge—he coveted knowledge—but he mated it with that internal awareness that lived inside him. He supposed Potter did more of that now as well as much as he read these days.

 

If he had really shifted his beliefs this far, he couldn’t support discrimination against those without pure blood, could he? Perhaps it was lifelong conditioning, but it still bothered him a little to think of Muggle-borns as equal to pure-bloods. But if mixed blood was acceptable…and mixed blood had to be _mixed_ with something…could he really look down upon Muggle-borns? He wrestled with that ethical dilemma more often than he liked. It seemed his life just got more and more complicated. He sometimes wished he were a first-year again, just starting out at Hogwarts, his beliefs certain, his world peaceful and secure. How could so much change in so short a time?

 

 

************************************************************************************

 

 

Things came to a head during a training session. Malfoy had generally been quiet but had made a few snarky comments—never to Ron or about Ron specifically, but Ron always took the most offence. Harry played peacemaker a couple of times but then gave up. If Remus wanted to separate the two of them, he could; otherwise, Harry was fine just letting them have a go at each other.

 

They were partnered up and duelling under Remus’ supervision. George and Ginny were there (Fred was minding the shop), which created three pairs. Harry was partnered with George and out of the corner of his eye, saw Ginny fall to Malfoy. He was surprised to see Malfoy turn towards Ron and Hermione.

 

“Always watch your back, Granger,” he heard Malfoy say. He saw Malfoy level his wand at Hermione. As she spun around to defend herself, Ron leapt in front of her. He took the powerful Disarming spell Malfoy cast right in the chest. It knocked him on his arse, and his wand clattered across the floor.

 

Malfoy advanced on Ron as he scrambled to reach his wand. As if in a tunnel, everything within Harry coalesced on Malfoy. He could see his wand movements and saw the whispered words forming on his lips. He knew exactly what spell Malfoy was going to use on Ron, and it wasn’t pretty.

 

_“Protego!”_ he shouted. His spell shielded Ron just in time. Ron half-sat, half-lay on the floor in stunned disbelief while the room fell completely silent.

 

“Nice job, Potter,” Malfoy said casually, as if nothing unusual had happened. “You stayed aware of what was happening around you and intervened when a comrade was in trouble.” He glanced dismissively at Ron. “Weasley, of course, had to try and play the hero, nearly getting himself seriously injured in the process. He should have trusted Granger to defend herself; she’s more than capable of it.”

 

Harry just stared at him. “You were going to hurt him. I know that spell you used, and you would have hurt him.”

 

Malfoy shrugged. “War hurts. And Weasley earned a little pain for his foolish actions. I thought perhaps it would teach him a valuable lesson.”

 

“You attacked Hermione!” Ron roared, coming alive from his stupor on the floor. He gained his feet and started to rush Malfoy. Malfoy swished his wand and had Ron tumbling to the floor again. Malfoy kept his wand trained on Ron.

 

“I could easily kill you right now. If I were a Death Eater, you’d likely already be dead if you’d just tried such an obvious physical assault on me. You have to learn some control.”

 

“You are a Death Eater!” Ron shouted, his face purple with rage. He’d landed near his wand and snatched it up. Before anyone could react, he shot off one of the lower-level cutting curses Remus used during training for demonstration at Malfoy, which Malfoy easily deflected. Malfoy flicked his wand at Ron, and Harry heard the sickening sound of a bone snap before Ron cried out in pain.

 

Harry slashed his own wand and disarmed Malfoy, who didn’t even try to stop him. Hermione and the others rushed to Ron’s side where he was cradling his left forearm.

 

“He broke my arm! That fucking ferret broke my fucking arm!” Harry heard Ron yell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus checking Ron’s arm and figured that situation was handled.

 

But the Malfoy situation was not. “How dare you?” Harry hissed. “How fucking dare you?”

 

Malfoy shrugged, appearing completely unconcerned. “He attacked me. I defended myself.”

 

“You _defended_ yourself from his spell with that shield. Then you attacked him for revenge.”

 

“That’s one way to look at it. I look at it as protecting myself from further attacks by putting my enemy out of commission.”

 

Harry glared at Malfoy. “Ron’s not your enemy!”

 

“Isn’t he? We may be on the same side, but he’s definitely my enemy. Even putting all that aside, in that moment, he certainly was my enemy. Anyone who comes at me with the purpose of doing me harm is my enemy.”

 

“We’re in training, not a real battle. There was no reason for you to cause him actual harm.” Harry stepped closer to Malfoy and lowered his voice. “You were going to cut him. That curse—I recognised it. You were actually going to cut him.”

 

Malfoy watched him steadily. “Not badly. And he was going to cut me, too.”

 

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Harry stared into Malfoy’s grey eyes and realised the Slytherin wasn’t nearly as calm as he was pretending to be. He spoke his next words in a voice as cold as the arctic. “I thought you had changed.”

 

Malfoy broke Harry’s gaze and stepped away. “I have fucking changed.” He snatched his wand up off the floor and stalked out of the room.

 

Harry stood for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down. He was pissed off as hell, and knew if he was this angry, Ron was a hundred times worse. He needed to keep himself under control and not add any fuel to Ron’s rage.

 

Turning, he saw Ron being helped to his feet.

 

“I’m taking him to see Madam Pomfrey,” Remus said when he saw Harry watching them. “It doesn’t appear to be too bad, and I’ve splinted it so travelling by Floo won’t cause any additional damage.” He looked Harry over carefully. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not the one who got hurt.”

 

“I wonder about that,” Remus muttered under his breath. When Harry cocked his head in question, Remus shook his own. “Nothing. Come on, Ron, let’s go have Madam Pomfrey fix you up.”

 

As Ron walked past Harry, still holding his left arm, he shot him a viciously smug look. “I told you Malfoy would never change. This just proves it. He can’t be trusted. He doesn’t belong with us. I hope you see that now.”

 

Harry was shocked that his first impulse was to defend Malfoy. Ron _had_ been partially to blame for the incident, not that Harry thought it would be wise to say that to Ron just then. Maybe ever. But to have to bite his tongue against defending Malfoy’s actions…?

 

Remus urged Ron along, shooting a backward look over his shoulder at Harry, who still stood impassively watching them go. “Are you coming?”

 

“No, I think I’d best stay here.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t stay here alone with Malfoy,” Hermione said worriedly.

 

“I’ll be fine.” Harry waved off her concern. “I can handle Malfoy.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, fearing they would sound like he was implying Ron _couldn’t_ handle Malfoy the way he could, but no one seemed to take it that way. He sighed in relief and watched them all leave the room to Floo to Hogwarts.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

 

 

Harry waited until he heard the Floo fall silent. He looked around the room in a bit of a daze. What the hell had just happened? How had it all gone pear-shaped so badly? It was just as Malfoy had once said: putting him and Ron in the same room while Dark spells were being practised wasn’t a good idea.

 

But they’d been training together for weeks and everything had been mostly fine. Certainly nothing like this had happened. Everything had changed after Harry had kissed Malfoy. Malfoy didn’t seem to care anymore what people thought of him. He was walking a very fine line with his actions. And Harry had had enough.

 

He took the stairs two at a time and arrived at Malfoy’s door to find it locked. Uncaring about Malfoy’s privacy, he muttered _“Alohomora,”_ and opened the door. Malfoy stood in the centre of the room, arms crossed, apparently waiting for him.

 

“What the fuck was that downstairs?” Harry demanded.

 

“I already told you—I was simply trying to demonstrate that in battle, one must always be aware of your surroundings. I was only going to disarm Granger. It was Weasley who blew the whole thing out of proportion.”

 

“But you didn’t waste time jumping right in making a tense situation worse, did you?”

 

“Ron Weasley is an idiot. He wouldn’t have listened to reason, even if I had tried to explain myself. He came at me; I defended myself. If my definition of defending myself is different from yours, it can’t be helped.”

 

Harry glowered at Malfoy. “Fine. You view attacking as a means of defence; I’ve duelled with you enough times to know that. But you didn’t have to use a spell that would have actually hurt Ron if I hadn’t stopped you. You took it too far.”

 

“You’re entitled to your opinion. I felt it was necessary to use something strong enough to teach him a real lesson. He has to take care of himself first; if he leaves himself unprotected in order to protect his girlfriend, who is perfectly capable of protecting herself—is in fact better at defence than he is—he’s lucky he hasn’t been killed already. He actually put Granger in more danger by jumping in front of her—she became distracted and wasn’t ready to face me. If he continues to act so rashly, he’ll be a liability in battle. He has to learn.”

 

“Remus has told him—”

 

“Yes, he’s been told that before, several times. Does he listen? No. So I took the opportunity to show him instead of wasting my breath telling him again. You should be thanking me—if Weasley actually takes the lesson to heart, which I doubt, it might just save your friend’s life.”

 

Harry seethed. The problem was, he could see Malfoy’s point. Ron _had_ overreacted. He _had_ been told all of what Malfoy had just said. Perhaps Ron couldn’t help it—he was a Gryffindor and maybe it was just too ingrained a personality trait to override. But Hermione could have defended herself, and if she hadn’t, she would have only been disarmed, not hurt. Malfoy had even warned her, something that would never have happened in real battle. But Malfoy had still taken it too far.

 

“You shouldn’t have broken his arm,” he finally said, knowing that by not refuting Malfoy’s statements Malfoy would know he was agreeing with him.

 

“I did something painful that can easily be healed. I could have used something much worse, and you know it.”

 

“You were going to cut him—would have if I hadn’t—”

 

“I knew someone, probably you, would shield Weasley,” Malfoy interrupted. “There was plenty of time to do so, everyone was watching by that point, and if no one had made a move, it simply would have been a lesson to all of you not to stand around gawking when someone is in trouble, and you are in a position to help.”

 

Damn if Malfoy wasn’t right again. Everything he said made sense. But Harry was still pissed off, and he thought he knew the reason why.

 

“You know what I think?” he said dangerously, advancing on Malfoy, who stood his ground. “Let’s say I agree with your logic—I still say none of this would have happened a week ago. I know what’s going on here. I’m not stupid. You cancel practising with me. You avoid me. You say shitty things with the goal of pissing me off. Now you hurt my friend.

 

“You think I don’t know it’s all about this?”

 

So saying, he grabbed Malfoy by the front of his shirt and took his mouth with his own.

 

Draco immediately responded. He threw caution and common sense to the wind and let himself have exactly what he wanted: Harry Potter’s kiss. He kissed Potter back with the same desperate passion he felt from him. Their tongues duelled; his hands were in Potter’s hair and he had no memory of how they’d gotten there. Potter had released his shirt and yanked at his hips to press their bodies together. The feel of another man’s erection against his own was heady.

 

Harry was overcome by the sheer pleasure of having his mouth on Malfoy’s, his hands on his body, his groin pressed against his own. He’d never been this turned on in his life. He broke the kiss to get some much-needed air and hoped to calm down a little before he went off like one of the twins’ Whiz-Bangs. He trailed his mouth down Malfoy’s neck, wet, open-mouthed kisses that had Malfoy moaning in response. That moan echoed through Harry and simply increased his need to have _more._

 

His hands left Malfoy’s hips to yank his shirt over his head. Malfoy didn’t resist. When Harry stripped off his own shirt, Malfoy’s hands immediately went to his chest, his fingers tangling in Harry’s chest hair. Harry knocked one hand aside and took his mouth down Malfoy’s chest, mouthing at a nipple until it tightened under his tongue and teeth. Malfoy’s hands had moved to hold his head in place, roughly combing through his hair.

 

 _Fuck._ What Potter was doing to his nipple felt amazing. He would have never guessed he was so sensitive there. When Potter worked his way over to give his other one the same treatment, Draco couldn’t help himself and moaned again.

 

The next thing he knew, Potter’s mouth was on his again, sucking his tongue into his mouth and biting at it gently. Draco almost came in his pants. Potter started walking him backwards. When he felt the back of his legs hit the bed, Draco sat down. Potter pressed him down until he was flat on his back, his legs over the side of the bed. Potter straddled him, never letting up in his apparent goal of eating Draco alive. Draco was just fine with helping him achieve that goal. He rolled his hips and felt his erection rub against Potter’s and heard Potter moan.

 

They snogged for ages, hands exploring skin. Potter’s skin was smooth and warm and taut with the tension building pleasurably between them as their mouths continued their mutual assault. When Potter finally broke the kiss and started moving his way down his chest again, Draco wanted to protest. He wanted that mouth on his, wanted that hot, wet tongue sliding against his own. Then his breath caught. Was Potter going to…?

 

His wonderful suspicions were confirmed when Potter fondled him through his jeans before undoing the button and zip. Draco automatically lifted his hips when Potter yanked down his jeans and boxers in one go. He lifted his head to look down his body and saw Potter watching him. Apparently seeing what he needed to see, Potter grinned wickedly and kept his eyes on Draco’s as he licked a stripe up Draco’s cock.

 

Draco’s head fell back against the mattress, and he groaned loudly. He could both hear and feel Potter’ soft chuckle. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to whatever Potter had planned for him.

 

Harry licked Malfoy’s shaft again before circling the head teasingly with his tongue. Then he took as much of Malfoy’s dick as he could into his mouth. He made up for the difference with his fist and began to work him, hard but slow. Harry didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance to do this—Malfoy might freak out on him again afterwards—so he wanted to make it last and planned to enjoy every second.

 

Malfoy made delicious noises above him. Who would have guessed Malfoy was a noisy lover? He tended to be rather reserved normally. Harry picked up the pace and continued to suck hard with every upward movement. He tongued the head and tasted the slightly bitter salt of the pre-come leaking from the slit. It wasn’t long before he felt Malfoy’s body tense and heard a whispered warning, “Potter, I’m going to…”

 

Harry just worked him harder, and soon Malfoy was jerking and coming in his mouth. Harry wasn’t the best at swallowing—he didn’t have that much experience—so some of it leaked out. Harry didn’t care and doubted Malfoy did either. When Malfoy finally relaxed against the bed again, Harry gave his cock one last kiss before wiping his mouth with his hand, crawling up on the bed beside Malfoy, and kissing him.

 

Draco was out of breath but enjoyed the languid kiss. He realised what he tasted was himself. His knee-jerk reaction should have been to react with disgust, but his mouth had other ideas and just continued snogging Potter.

 

He felt something move against his hip. Opening his eyes, he realised Potter was fisting his own cock, obviously in need of getting off himself. Out of instinct, Draco reached for his hand and pushed it aside. He didn’t think he was ready to give Potter a blowjob, but he could do this. Every man in the world knew how to wank.

 

Potter groaned and flopped over on his back. Draco rolled to his side and watched Potter’s face as he pulled at his cock. He’d never touched another man’s cock and enjoyed the feel of firm flesh under his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over the spongy head, spreading the liquid weeping copiously from the slit. Potter moaned then pushed his hips upwards. The man’s eyes were closed in bliss, and his breathing was audible. Malfoy knew when he was about to come from the tension in his body and the tight expression on his face, so he sped up his hand and soon Potter was shooting creamy white liquid over his chest and Draco’s hand. Draco kept working him, slowing down gradually until Potter relaxed. After a moment, his eyes opened, and Draco found himself staring into a sleepy green gaze.

 

A slow smile spread across Harry’s face. Malfoy looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary, a small half-smile on his face. They stared at each other a little longer, both of them a little stunned by what had happened. Eventually Harry decided to take the lead.

 

“That was…unexpected. Unexpected but really fucking good,” he said, grinning.

 

Malfoy blinked and then slowly smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.” He stared at Harry a little longer and then flopped over onto his back. They lay there, side by side, for a few minutes until Malfoy finally said, “Is this the part where we talk about what just happened?”

 

Harry chuckled at Malfoy’s reference to the first real conversation they’d ever had.

 

“I don’t think either of us wants to, but we probably should,” he answered.

 

Malfoy sighed. “You know this is a really bad idea.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But it sure as hell felt good.”

 

Malfoy snickered. “I have to agree with you there.” He paused before adding, “What are we doing here, Potter?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “I just know I liked it. I also know I shouldn’t have liked it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did like it. A lot.”

 

“Are you thinking about doing it again?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry rolled his head to the side and looked at Malfoy’s profile. “Are you?”

 

“We shouldn’t.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question again.”

 

Malfoy blew out a breath as he continued to stare at the ceiling. “Fine. I am thinking about it. But we shouldn’t. We really can’t. Do you know how much trouble it would cause if anyone ever found out we’d done this?”

 

Harry snorted. “Buckets. Loads. Shitloads.”

 

“Weasley’s reaction alone would light up London.”

 

This time Harry snickered. “No kidding.”

 

“You know your reputation would be ruined. And I’d be chucked out on my arse if I actually survived everyone’s wrath.”

 

Harry sat up. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I was just as involved in this as you were. I was the one who started it. And fuck my reputation.”

 

Draco reached down and _Accio_ -ed his wand from where it had fallen to the floor. He cleaned them both up with a gentle cleansing charm. Then he yanked his twisted boxer shorts out of his jeans and pulled them on. Harry followed suit. Harry supposed neither of them was comfortable sitting around naked in front of each other.

 

“It wouldn’t matter even if you told them that,” Malfoy finally said. “They wouldn’t let me stay. They already don’t trust me very much. Screwing around with the Chosen One would be too much for them to take.”

 

“I’m telling you I wouldn’t let that happen,” Harry insisted. “But you’re right; it would be better if no one ever found out.”

 

“Which is why it can’t happen again.” Malfoy looked over his shoulder at Harry as he pulled on his jeans. “Even though I…even though I would like it to.”

 

Harry knew that was a monumental admission on Malfoy’s part. Malfoy was putting up his walls just as he was putting on his clothes, but to confess to that was letting Harry see a part of Malfoy Harry imagined anyone rarely did.

 

“Malfoy…”

 

After a moment, Malfoy turned around. “What, Potter? You know it as well as I do. I don’t regret this; I want you to know that. But it can’t happen again.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry said reluctantly, pulling on his own jeans. He did know Malfoy was right. Having sex with Malfoy was about the most insane thing he could ever do. That didn’t stop him from wanting to do it though. “But I don’t regret it either.”

 

Malfoy nodded as he pulled on a jumper.

 

“Can we…can we at least be friends again? Or at least friendly? I haven’t liked you very much the past week.”

 

Malfoy laughed. “You weren’t supposed to like me; that was the point.”

 

“I know. But can we? Be friends again?”

 

Malfoy finished fixing his hair in the mirror before turning back around and answering Harry.

 

“Yes. I never thought I’d say this to Harry Potter, but I didn’t enjoy being an arse to you the past few days. I’d apologise, but it wouldn’t make any difference. It was the only thing I could think to do to make sure you didn’t want to be anywhere near me. I didn’t think I could handle being near you very often.”

 

“I understand. As I said before, I knew what you were doing. And I didn’t even mind it too much because it did help me stay away from you, and I needed to.”

 

“Then maybe we shouldn’t go back to being…friends. Maybe it would be better if we still…”

 

“Acted like we can’t stand each other?” Harry shook his head. “I’d rather be friends with you than nothing, Malfoy. I never thought I’d be saying this to Draco Malfoy—” his lips quirked as he copied Malfoy’s earlier statement—“but I actually like being friends with you.”

 

Malfoy smiled just a little. “All right then, Potter.” He held out a hand and marvelled at what he was doing. “Friends.”

 

“Friends,” Harry agreed, shaking Malfoy’s hand. “And since we’re friends—and since I’ve sucked your cock—I think you should call me Harry.”

 

Draco choked a little a Harry’s offhand “sucked your cock” comment but grinned. “I don’t know if I can break the habit of calling you ‘Potter.’”

 

“Try. At least while it’s just you and me around. Can I call you Draco?”

 

Draco released an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “If you must.”

 

Harry grinned and pulled on Draco’s hand, which was still clasped in his own, and kissed him long and hard.

 

He smirked when they finally broke apart. “I’ll miss that…Draco,” he said and left the room.

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

Harry knew he should Floo the Burrow to see how Ron was doing, but he really didn’t want to. He should actually go over, have this conversation in person, but of course he couldn’t. For once it was a blessing to be stuck at Grimmauld Place. Maybe he could call and somehow get Hermione instead of Ron. Then he could ask how he was doing without having to actually talk to him.

 

Crossing his fingers for good luck, he tossed in the Floo power, stuck in his head, gritted his teeth against the bizarre sensation of having various Floo network grates whiz past inches from his face, and hoped for the best.

 

Harry thanked Merlin when his luck held. Mrs Weasley answered the fire-call and informed him Ron was in Diagon Alley with his brothers.

 

“Er, how is he?” Harry asked tentatively.

 

“Oh, he’s fine now, physically, at least,” Molly said. “He’s still rather angry though.”

 

Harry grimaced. He could clearly imagine how pissed off Ron was.

 

“Well, that’s good. I mean, it’s good his arm has been mended. Tell him I called to see how he was.”

 

“Harry, dear…can you tell me what happened?”

 

Harry blinked. “Ron didn’t tell you?”

 

“Oh, he certainly did, at the top of his lungs. I haven’t had a chance to speak with Ginny or Hermione about it privately, as they’ve gone to Hermione’s home for the afternoon to visit, and George went straight to the shop from Hogwarts. I’d like your version of what happened.”

 

“Oh, well.” It seemed Harry was going to have an awkward conversation after all. “Um, Malfoy told Hermione to watch her back while she and Ron were duelling. Hermione turned to do so when Ron jumped in front of her and got hit by Malfoy’s Disarming spell. Malfoy followed up with another spell, but I blocked it. Ron got really, er, angry and tried to attack Malfoy, twice, which is when Malfoy broke his arm.”

 

“I see. I must say, your version of events is a bit different than Ron’s.”

 

“What did Ron say happened?”

 

“He said Draco attacked Hermione out of the blue and then attacked him. He did admit to going after Draco in retaliation, but he left out some rather important details.” She paused. “I know my son quite well, Harry, and I know he has the tendency to fly off the handle, especially when it comes to Draco Malfoy. When Ron told me what had happened, I suspected there was more to the story.”

 

“Mrs Weasley—”

 

“I’ve told you to call me Molly.”

 

“Molly, I’m not saying what Malfoy did was right, but Malfoy did explain to me why he did what he did.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

Harry summarised Malfoy’s rationale, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. Molly nodded her head when he was finished.

 

“Well, I can’t say I approve of his methods, as they are rather violent and my son got hurt, but I can also understand what he was trying to do.”

 

“You can?” Harry was rather surprised by this.

 

“Yes. Harry, is what Draco said about Ron putting himself and possibly others in danger by reacting without thinking, is that accurate?”

 

“Um, well, er, that is…”

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve put you in a bad position by asking you all this. But I imagine it is at least partly true.” She hesitated. “I’m going to ask a huge favour of you, Harry.”

 

Harry braced himself. He never liked it when people said that.

 

“When Ron calms down, which may take a day or two, I’m going to have his father talk to him about what happened. Walk him through it, get Ron to tell him everything that really happened in the hope that Ron might come to some less emotional conclusions on his own. Arthur’s good at that. But I’d like you to try and talk to him too. I think he might listen to you. I don’t want him acting rashly in the middle of a battle. You’re good at convincing people, Harry, even people who are dead-set against being convinced. Can you do this for me, Harry?”

 

Harry sighed. It was something he’d sort of planned to do anyway. “Of course I will. But maybe in a few days, like you said. I don’t think Ron is ready to listen to anyone yet.”

 

“Thank you, Harry. I appreciate it, and I appreciate you telling me what happened. Have you worked all this out with Draco? You have to live in that house together, and I don’t want things to get ugly between the two of you again.”

 

“Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am. We’re fine. We hashed it all out a bit ago.” Harry supposed blowjobs were one way to hash things out.

 

“Good. I’ll tell Ron you Flooed. Take care of yourself, dear.”

 

“I will. You too.”

 

Harry pulled his head out of the fire and blew out a breath. He startled when he heard Draco say, “Was that Weasley?”

 

Harry turned around. “Um, no, his mother.”

 

Draco lifted his brows. “I suppose I should be watching my back around her from now on.”

 

Harry stood up. He was tired of kneeling on the hard stone of the kitchen floor.

 

“Actually, I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I told her your reasons for what you did, and she seemed to understand. She even asked me to talk to Ron about being less impulsive in a fight.”

 

“Did she? Well, maybe you can get through that thick skull.”

 

“Malfoy…”

 

“I said I’d be friends with you, Potter, not Weasley. And I’m simply stating the obvious again. Your friend is very stubborn.”

 

Harry knew this to be true, so he said nothing.

 

Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

 

“Yes, that’s why I came down. Are you cooking tonight or is Lupin?” They took turns preparing the meals, with Malfoy being assigned breakfast and lunch duties since he didn’t know how to cook anything resembling dinner food. Harry had taught him how to handle simple meals appropriate for morning and noon.

 

“Me. Any requests?”

 

“I like your pasta.”

 

Harry smiled, a bit cheekily. “Do you? How kind of you to say so.”

 

Draco gave him a sour look. “I’m trying to be _friendly._ ”

 

Harry grinned unrepentantly. “I know. And I do appreciate it. Pasta it is.”

 

Remus came in about half an hour later, and they sat down to eat.

 

As the conversation flowed smoothly with no underlying tension, Remus dared to ask, “I take it the two of you have settled your differences?”

 

Harry glanced at Draco. “Yeah, we have. We’re good now.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it. Having you two get along makes my life much more pleasant.” He turned to Malfoy. “About what happened today.”

 

Harry saw Draco stiffen.

 

“While I can’t say I condone your teaching style, I think I understand your purpose. You were giving everyone a warning to stay aware, and then it turned into a specific lesson for Ron to think before he acts in dangerous situations.”

 

Draco was surprised Lupin wasn’t berating him and seemed to really understand the purpose of his actions. Of course, he’d also had the lovely side benefit of getting to knock Weasley on his arse not once, but twice, and take out a little of the frustration he was feeling due to the situation with Potter. And it was just fun to have a go at Weasley.

 

“Yes, you’re right. It’s bothered me for some time how Weasley doesn’t seem to care that by reacting instead of thinking he puts other people in danger. Today it was Granger. She’d been ready to defend herself and then was naturally distracted by Weasley jumping in front of her and getting hit. A Death Eater would have taken her out the second he got Weasley out of the way.”

 

Harry hadn’t even thought of it that way. Remus obviously had though, as he nodded and said, “My thinking exactly. I’m not going to sit here and criticize Ron behind his back, but it is a weakness.” He looked at Harry. “Harry, I have a favour to ask.”

 

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. “You want me to talk to Ron about acting rashly and make him see that he’s putting himself and other people in danger. You think he’ll listen to me.”

 

Remus smiled. “Why do I suspect someone else has already asked you the same favour?”

 

Harry smiled wryly. “Molly did. I talked to her earlier.”

 

“You dared calling the Burrow and talking to Ron today? You are even braver than I thought, Harry.”

 

Draco snorted at Remus’ statement.

 

“Ha, ha,” Harry retorted. “I figured if I didn’t, he’d be more pissed off and think I was taking Malfoy’s side over his. Luckily, he wasn’t there.”

 

“I’d agree it was lucky. Ron was still quite angry when he left Hogwarts to go home.”

 

“I can only imagine,” Draco said dryly. “How many different ways did he threaten to get revenge on me?”

 

Remus and Harry snickered. Inside, Harry rejoiced a little. This was the Malfoy he liked—the humorous one, not the snide one.

 

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, all three of them glad to have things back on an even keel.

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

An Order meeting was held two days later at Hogwarts. Harry hadn’t had an opportunity to have his little chat with Ron (he hadn’t been putting it off or anything, oh, no), so he was nervous about what would happen when he walked in with Malfoy and Remus. He had a vague plan he hoped would work to at least keep the peace until the meeting was over.

 

Harry searched out Ron as soon as he entered the Great Hall. He spotted him at the end of the Hufflepuff table. Darting a quick glance at Malfoy, Harry separated himself and moved swiftly in Ron’s direction.

 

“Hey Ron,” Harry said. “How’s your arm?”

 

“All right.” Ron’s eyes roamed the room, and Harry knew he was searching for Malfoy. Harry knew the moment he spotted him by the way his expression tightened.

 

“Listen, Ron, about the other day. I think we should talk. So maybe if you could hold off on killing Malfoy until after that, we can still have the meeting.”

 

Ron huffed out a laugh, as Harry had hoped he would. “I’m not going to kill him. I’ve been talked out of that idea. And don’t worry, I’ve already promised Mum and Dad I’ll be on my best behaviour for the meeting.”

 

‘And after the meeting?’ Harry wondered but didn’t say it.

 

Instead he said, “Afterwards—do you have time to talk?”

 

“Sure,” Ron said, still watching Malfoy. “I reckon I’ve heard most of what you’re going to say already, but we can talk.”

 

Harry inwardly released a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Ron seemed much calmer and in control of himself.

 

When they were called to start the meeting, Harry took a seat next to Hermione with Ron on her other side. He tended to sit with Malfoy as a visible means of support but not tonight. Malfoy would be fine.

 

During the meeting they discussed some intelligence from Snape. Snape reported that the Dark Lord’s most recent attack on a Muggle village had only happened after he’d considered and disregarded two other towns as options.

 

“Do you think he could go after one of these towns in the future?” Tonks asked.

 

“It’s possible,” Snape said. “I believe we should come up with some kind of counter strategy that would work in each town on the chance I am able to warn you in advance that an attack is occurring. You should at least make yourself familiar with the towns. I already am.”

 

“It’s a good idea,” Moody agreed, looking reluctant to agree with Snape about anything.

 

After separating into two groups, with each group taking a different village, they set about discussing strategy, using rough maps of the towns that Snape sketched. They determined the best positions to place members of the Order based on where Snape thought the Death Eaters might arrive in the town. Of course, it was all very iffy. They really didn’t have anything solid to go on, but it felt good to Harry to be _doing_ something for once.

 

After the plans had been shared, and everyone was assigned a location in each town, the meeting adjourned.

 

He waved goodbye to Remus and Malfoy, whom he’d already told about his plan to talk with Ron after the meeting. Turning to Ron and Hermione, he asked, “Shall we use one of the classrooms? One without a portrait?”

 

Nodding, they headed to the nearest classroom. Once inside with the door warded against any who might wish to enter or listen in, they stood in a somewhat awkward silence.

 

“Ron, maybe you should tell Harry what you talked about with your dad,” Hermione finally suggested.

 

Ron shrugged and then nodded. They sat on some desks, and Ron explained his conversation with his father.

 

“I’ll start by saying I still hate Malfoy. But I understand what he said he was doing that day, about trying to teach me a lesson. He says I act without thinking, and maybe I do sometimes.” Harry could only imagine how difficult that had been for Ron to say. “But I can’t seem to help myself. When I saw Hermione was in danger, I wanted to protect her. I don’t understand what’s so wrong with that.”

 

“I’ve told you, Ron, I don’t need you to protect me. I can defend myself,” Hermione said, trying to hide her annoyance. “I was _going_ to defend myself.”

 

“I know, I know.” Ron held up his hands for peace. “And as I told you, it’s not that I don’t trust you to protect yourself. It’s just an instinctual reaction to do something when I see someone I love in danger.”

 

Harry remembered what Malfoy had said that night at dinner and had a brainstorm.

 

“Ron,” he said tentatively. “Suppose Malfoy really had been a Death Eater—and don’t say he is—” he warned sharply—“what would have happened to Hermione after you leapt in front of her to protect her but then got knocked aside?”

 

Harry looked at Hermione. “Hermione, I want you to stand over there and think of a spell. Any spell. Then lift your wand as if you’re going to do it. Don’t actually do it. Just think about it, prepare to do it.”

 

“What—”

 

“Hermione, please,” Harry pleaded.

 

Hermione shrugged, the look on her face clearly indicating she thought Harry was being very strange. When she lifted her wand, Harry abruptly shoved off the desk and jumped in front of her. She and Ron both startled. And Hermione’s wand tip dropped.

 

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked.

 

“Making a point,” Harry said grimly. “Look at your wand.”

 

She looked down and saw it pointing towards the floor. “What are you—” Her eyes lit with comprehension. “Oh.”

 

“‘Oh’ what?” Ron asked impatiently.

 

“The second I startled Hermione by unexpectedly jumping in front her, she lowered her wand,” Harry explained, trying to keep his tone neutral. “She had been prepared to cast a spell. When she was distracted, she was no longer prepared. I’m going to guess that whatever spell you had been ready to cast completely disappeared from your mind when I did that,” Harry said to Hermione.

 

“It did,” Hermione admitted.

 

Ron’s jaw tightened. “You’re saying I put Hermione in more danger by jumping in front of her like I did.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, as gently as possible. “If Malfoy had really intended to harm Hermione—which he didn’t—he could have very easily done so while she was standing there trying to figure out what had just happened. He could have taken care of both of you with very little effort.”

 

“And I would have also been terrified by seeing you hit with a spell right in front of me,” Hermione added. “I know it can happen, I know you could be hurt, but if it happened as Harry just described it…I don’t think I would have reacted in time to defend myself.” She looked apologetically at Ron. “Harry’s right.”

 

Harry could tell Ron was thinking hard about all of this, so he gave him a few minutes. He could only hope what he’d just demonstrated would get through Ron’s admittedly hard head.

 

“You—you are right, Harry,” Ron said at last. “I never thought of it like that, and I should have. Sudden surprise attacks are a solid battle strategy to use against an enemy, and I ended up using it against my ally.”

 

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Hermione quickly said.

 

“No, of course not, but the outcome could have been the same—rendering someone unable to quickly react to a threat. How could I have not seen that?”

 

“I think you…” Harry trailed off, uncertain if he should continue.

 

“Go on, say it, whatever it is. I won’t get angry.”

 

Harry nodded. “All right. I think you have to learn to control your impulses and your emotions in battle. You have a tendency to react first, think later. It’s one thing to be decisive in battle, it’s another not to use your head. You’re a good strategist, Ron. You understand war in a way I don’t. You can see the big picture. Perhaps you need to plan a strategy for yourself, for how to put yourself in the picture. I dunno, come up with a few different ways to handle a situation you might find yourself in, so you’ll be able to quickly choose which option is best without having to simply react without any sort of plan.”

 

“Do my thinking beforehand,” Ron said slowly. “Map out alternative approaches to a variety of hypothetical events, so they are ready in my mind. So when I do instinctively react, I will have already done the thinking and will hopefully do something smart instead of something stupid.”

 

Harry smiled a little. “Something like that.”

 

“You’re not such a bad strategist yourself, mate,” Ron said, smiling back. “It’s a really good idea. I’ll try it.”

 

Hermione beamed, obviously thrilled with the way Harry had gotten Ron thinking.

 

“You could start with some of the scenarios Remus uses when we’re training,” she suggested. “Come up with two or three different ways to handle each one. Then you can tell me, so I’ll know them, too,” she added, laughing.

 

The three shared a laugh before settling back down. The tension was broken, and Harry was loath to say anything to bring it back, but he didn’t see any choice.

 

“About Malfoy,” he started, trying to sound surer than he felt. “What’s going to happen the next time you see him?”

 

Ron grimaced. “I wish I never had to see him again.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Harry said wryly. “But you’re going to if you come to training tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, I’m coming,” Ron said definitely. “I’ll not have that ferret thinking he’s scared me away.”

 

Harry let the “ferret” comment slide—for now.

 

“I’m sure he expects to see you there,” Harry said. “But what are you going to do when you see him?”

 

“Punch his lights out?” Ron asked hopefully.

 

“Ron,” Hermione scolded playfully.   


“I’m kidding. I dunno what I’m going to do. What do you think I should do?”

 

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance.

 

“Maybe pretend nothing happened? Ignore it? Ignore Malfoy?” Hermione suggested.

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Harry said, latching on. “I don’t think he has any plans to say anything to you, but I could probably convince him to just ignore it all as well.”

 

“I guess I can do that,” Ron agreed. “But what about the next time he makes some stupid remark? Do you expect me to just ignore that, too?”

 

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered. “I think maybe we should try going back to the ‘being civil’ idea we had going for a while there. It was working fairly well.”

 

“Well, he hasn’t been playing by the rules this past week,” Ron reminded him. “He’s made all sorts of nasty comments.”

 

Malfoy hadn’t made that many comments in Ron’s hearing, but Harry let that slide too.

 

“We’ve talked about that, and it’s been sorted,” he said firmly.

 

“What had to be sorted?” Hermione asked. “Why was he acting that way again?”

 

“He, uh, well, he and I had a bit of a disagreement. He was making those comments as a way to get to me.”

 

“What did you argue about?”

 

“Nothing important,” Harry said, hoping Hermione would let it drop. “It was a bunch of little things, really, that just sort of piled up. Like I said, everything’s fine now. Back to normal.”

 

“Normal being you staying in the same house with Malfoy and not killing him, you mean?”

 

“Yeah, that.” Harry forced a smile at Ron. He wasn’t outright lying to his friends, but he did feel like he was deceiving them by not being more open about the fact that he’d gotten friendly with Malfoy. More than just friendly, Harry thought cynically, but he’d never dare tell them that part of the “friendliness”.

 

“All right then,” Ron said. “I won’t start anything if he doesn’t. Wasn’t that the original agreement?”

 

“That and basic civility,” Harry agreed. “I’ll talk to Malfoy and make sure he agrees to the same thing. I’m pretty sure he will.”

 

“There, then, that’s settled,” Hermione said happily. “Now _everything_ can go back to normal—as normal as anything ever is with us.”

 

As they fell into general conversation, Harry wondered if getting back to normal would mean being able to stop thinking about Malfoy all the time, too.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

 

 

The Floo coming to life interrupted dinner. Professor McGonagall’s head appeared in the green flames.

 

“We’ve got Death Eaters in Brimley,” she said tersely, referring to one of the towns Snape had told them about. “I’ve just gotten word from our lookout.”

 

“We’re on our way,” Lupin promised, and McGonagall disappeared, off to call others.

 

“Apply the glamour,” Harry said to Draco. “I’ll do yours next.”

 

Draco felt distinctly ill at the thought of going into battle, but he didn’t see a way out of it this time. Potter must have sensed something of his thoughts, because he said, “You’re better at this than anyone else. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Will you be?”

 

“I have to be,” Harry said grimly. “Do the glamour.”

 

Glamours applied, they bolted out the back door to the Apparition spot they’d concealed from prying eyes, be them wizarding or Muggle.

 

Draco concentrated hard on Apparating. Someone had been set the task of determining Apparition coordinates for each of the places Order members were meant to arrive, but having to calculate so many was time consuming, and they hadn’t been told any coordinates yet. Apparating to somewhere he’d never been, only seen on a map and a photograph Lupin had brought back from his scouting visit of the town, was going to be a little difficult.

 

He could only assume he made it to the right place as the second he appeared in the town, he was hit by a Disarming spell. He immediately dropped to the ground and _Accio_ -ed his wand back. He shot off a nasty hex and smiled grimly when he heard a man scream. Right on target.

 

He didn’t have time to do much thinking after that. He was attacked again from the left and reacted instinctively. He shielded himself and then struck back. Draco might not like fighting, but he’d made himself damn good at it because he really, really didn’t want to die.

 

The battle was a bit of a blur. Hexes were thrown, curses were cast, shields were raised. From what Draco could tell, it was complete chaos, and he was right in the middle of it. Draco found himself on the defensive as often as he was on the offensive and was grateful for his training. If he’d been in a battle like this when he was still playing the role of a Death Eater, he knew he wouldn’t have been ready for this level of fighting.

 

Then he felt the tingle of magic along his skin and knew his glamour had just been erased.

 

_“Draco!”_

 

Draco heard his father call his name but didn’t respond. He dropped to the ground and rolled to avoid the curse he could _feel_ coming at him from behind. His father didn’t mind fighting dirty.

 

He nimbly leapt back to his feet and prepared to defend himself.

 

Lucius stood, bold as brass, maskless with his long blond hair streaming over his shoulders. He ignored the war going on around them and simply smiled at him, sharp and thin as a blade. “Hello, son.”

 

“I’m no longer your son,” Draco said curtly, every nerve stretched tight in anticipation of the battle he knew was coming. “But I will be your end.”

 

With that he jumped aside and dove to the ground again, shooting out a vicious cutting curse as he did. He wasn’t above fighting dirty himself.

 

He felt grim satisfaction when he heard his father howl but didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t give Lucius a stable target, not even for an instant. He shot out curse after curse, aggressively going on the offensive while Lucius stumbled backwards, shielding himself. With every spell, the knowledge of what he had to do grew inside him, but he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.

 

His weakness almost cost him his life as his father gained his balance and began to fight back. Draco barely ducked a Decapitating curse and felt pain lance across his thigh from a fire spell. He put out the fire and gritted his teeth against the pain of the burn. Now he was the one on the defensive as Lucius pushed him closer to the wall of a building Draco knew was behind him. He couldn’t let himself be trapped. He ducked, dodged, jumped up and then over to the side, all the while shooting out spell after spell in between putting up shields.

 

_“Lucius Malfoy!”_

 

Draco heard Lucius’ name called and saw his father turn his attention away from him, just for a split second. Before he could let himself waver, he took the opportunity.

 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

 

 

***************************************************************************

 

 

Harry wasn’t sure how, but the Order and the Aurors beat the Death Eaters back. The Death Eaters who weren’t dead, bound up, or too badly injured to Disapparate fled.

 

He’d made it through this battle better than the last one. He’d used some of that damnable focus Malfoy was always harping on him about in training and tried to put aside everything but the present situation. There had been a few moments—several, actually—where he’d started to falter. When a spell would remind him of the pain. When the sight of a Death Eater coming at him with his wand raised had his insides clutching in fear. But he bore down and somehow managed to shove the memories and the fear aside and fight. He thought he’d fought well—well enough to keep himself alive, at least.

 

He looked around the gruesome battlefield. Several bodies lay strewn across the ground—ground that ran red with blood in places. People sat on kerbs while others tried to tend to their injuries. Several buildings still smoked from where the Death Eaters had set them on fire, and someone had put out the flames. He liked to think they’d won—but at what cost?

 

Harry was afraid to look around and discover whom the dead were, but he needed to know and would find out at some point regardless. He hoped rather desperately he didn’t see anyone he knew well.

 

Ignoring the pain in his knee, he wandered about. He saw three Death Eaters, two of whom he recognised from his time as a captive. He wasn’t sorry to see them dead. In fact, he felt a grim sort of satisfaction.

 

But he also saw two of the newer Order members. He knew Abraham Adams and Daisy Morningfield by name but didn’t know them personally. He was saddened and sickened to see them lying on the ground.

 

Then he saw pale blond hair, and his heart squeezed in his chest. But he realised almost instantly it wasn’t Draco because the hair was too long: it was Lucius Malfoy. It didn’t occur to him to question why his breath had strangled in his throat at the sight of that hair. He just knew the relief that flooded him when he understood it wasn’t Draco was staggering.

 

As there was nothing to be done for Lucius Malfoy, Harry continued walking. A little farther down he found what he’d been afraid of finding, despite being compelled to look: a man with his throat cut nearly all the way across. Blood covered him and pooled beneath his body. Sightless eyes seemed to be staring at the blood-spattered Death Eater mask laying on the ground a couple of metres away.

 

Harry’s entire world narrowed down to that one man: the first person he’d ever killed.

 

Everything involving the duel with the anonymous Death Eater was forever etched on his memory and played in slow motion through his mind as he stared at the body. They’d traded several spells back and forth before Harry cast one of the more vicious cutting curses he’d learnt from Malfoy. He’d aimed for his chest—but the man had ducked, and the spell had slashed him across the neck. Blood had instantly geysered, unchecked by the man’s futile attempts to stop it with his hands. The Death Eater mask had been knocked away, and Harry had clearly seen his face, one he would never forget. He’d been watching the man collapse to the ground when he’d been distracted by a jet of blue light whizzing past. He’d gotten pulled into another duel and hadn’t actually seen his victim die.

 

But he’d killed.

 

Harry’s mind wanted to freeze and scramble at the same time. It was if time had stopped but half-formed thoughts kept tumbling around in his mind, faster than he could begin to understand them. He couldn’t process this now; he just couldn’t. He’d think about later. He’d deal with the emotions he could feel bubbling under the numbness he currently felt later. Later.

 

He had a hard time tearing his gaze from the man’s bloody body, but he eventually snapped himself out of the trance he’d fallen into. Bending over, he used two fingers to close the man’s eyes. After a long last look, he turned and walked away.

 

Harry slowly limped over to where a number of Order members were gathered with Dumbledore. The man looked as grim as Harry had ever seen him.

 

“The most seriously injured are being taken to St. Mungo’s,” he was saying. “Those with lesser injuries can be treated at Hogwarts. Remind everyone not to say anything if questioned. If anyone from the Ministry wants to know what happened here, or how we came to be here, refer them to me.”

 

“Albus, it was a—”

 

“Not here,” Dumbledore cut Podmore off sharply. “We can discuss this later at Hogwarts. For now, do what you can to help get the injured moved. I need to speak to Kingsley and the Aurors.”

 

Harry watched him stride away and then, at a loss, looked around for someone who might need help. He saw Malfoy sitting on a kerb with his head in his hands.

 

“Hey, Malfoy, you all right?” Harry asked in concern, sitting down next to him. It was a relief to get some pressure off his injured knee.

 

Draco didn’t respond, and Harry placed a tentative hand on his back. Draco stiffened but didn’t draw away.

 

“Draco, I need to know if you’re injured.”

 

Malfoy shook his head slowly. “Nothing serious,” he mumbled in such a low voice Harry could hardly hear him.

 

Harry just sat there a few minutes, his hand unconsciously rubbing slow circles on Draco’s back. Eventually Draco lifted his head, and Harry was shocked to see he’d been crying.

 

“My father is dead,” he said in a voice scarily void of all emotion. “Lucius Malfoy is dead.”

 

“I know,” Harry said softly. “I—I saw him.”

 

“I killed him,” Draco said bluntly and then swallowed hard. “I killed my father.”

 

Harry had suspected this and even though he was personally quite happy Lucius was dead, it made his heart ache to see Draco looking so wrecked.

 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Draco asked him, still staring off into the distance. Harry doubted he even saw the house standing across the road. “You who distracted my father by calling his name.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “It was. I saw the two of you fighting, but I was too far away to really do anything to help you. But I remembered what you told me that one time about calling someone’s name to distract them so I…” He trailed off, uncertain he’d done the right thing.

 

“You called his name, and in doing so, you did help me. You gave me the opening I needed to…to do what I did. I should probably thank you for saving my life.”

 

“I think you saved your own life,” Harry replied quietly. In more ways than one, Harry added to himself.

 

They sat there in silence while people moved around them, helping the wounded. Harry saw a team of wizards going around to the Muggle houses and figured they were Obliviators.

 

When there were only a few people left wandering around, Draco said, “I guess we should go to Hogwarts.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, standing. He held out a hand to help Draco up. Draco took it, meeting Harry’s eyes as he did.

 

“Thank you,” he said. This time it was Harry who knew he was being thanked for more than just a hand up.

 

 

************************************************************************

 

 

Harry and Draco had their minor injuries healed by Madam Pomfrey. Among other things, she eased the swelling on Harry’s knee and gave Draco some burn salve to keep putting on the burns he’d sustained on his leg.

 

By the time everyone had been healed, it was very, very late. As much as everyone was dying to meet and officially discuss what had happened, it was agreed that they would all return home for some much needed rest and meet again that night at Hogwarts. Harry imagined there were a lot of people calling in sick that day.

 

Malfoy seemed disinclined to talk, and Harry didn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine what Draco must be feeling. He told him he’d see him later when they parted in the hallway to go to their respective rooms. Harry showered and then just collapsed onto his bed, beyond exhausted.

 

When he woke, grateful that the battle hadn’t triggered a flashback, it was after noon, and his stomach rumbled to remind him he hadn’t eaten in hours—he hadn’t even really gotten to have his tea the night before, seeing as it had been interrupted by the fire-call from McGonagall. As he stepped into the corridor and saw Malfoy’s closed door, he wondered if he was in there or was downstairs.

 

He was a little surprised to find both Draco and Remus eating together in the kitchen. Neither of them looked particularly alert. Harry scanned Draco’s face for a hint of how he was feeling, but the Slytherin was wearing a carefully neutral, if tired, expression.

 

“We’ve only just gotten up ourselves,” Remus explained. “It felt like breakfast time, so I made egg and bacon sandwiches. Help yourself.”

 

Harry sat down and took a sandwich. They ate in silence for a while. Draco broke the silence by saying what they were all thinking.

 

“It was an ambush,” he said flatly. “They were waiting for us.”

 

“They were,” Remus agreed. “We’re lucky more weren’t killed or seriously injured.”

 

“I was attacked the moment I Apparated in,” Harry said. “By two of them.”

 

Draco looked at him. “Me too.”

 

“There was just one waiting for me,” Remus said grimly.

 

The three men looked at each other. It had definitely been an ambush.

 

 

*****************************************************************

 

 

Draco spent the rest of the day holed up in his room. When Remus questioned Harry as to what was wrong with Draco, Harry told him Lucius was dead. He didn’t say anything about it being Draco who’d killed Lucius—he figured that was Draco’s story to tell if he wanted to. Harry felt as though he should try to talk to him, but Remus advised letting him be, at least for now. Draco had some very difficult emotions to work out, and Remus believed Draco was the sort who’d want some privacy to do so. Harry reluctantly agreed, remembering the many times he’d wanted to be left alone to sort out something that was bothering him and had been annoyed by people wanting to “talk.” And he could understand not wanting to talk about killing. No one knew he had killed the night before, and he certainly wasn’t keen on the idea of talking about it—he was avoiding even thinking about it most assiduously.

 

Draco emerged from his room in time to go to the meeting. Unable not to say anything at all, Harry asked if he was all right. Draco simply nodded.

 

Harry, Draco, and Remus arrived for the meeting at Hogwarts early, but they weren’t the only ones—there were several people already milling around. Harry looked around anxiously for red hair—he’d been very distressed to learn from Remus that Molly Weasley was one of the seriously injured and had been taken to St. Mungo’s. He’d fire-talked with Ron earlier and knew Molly was better and on the road to a full recovery, but he wanted to be with his adopted family and hear how she was doing.

 

He made a beeline to the first Weasley he saw.

 

“Molly, how she is?” he asked anxiously of Bill.

 

“She’s much better,” Bill said, smiling. “Truly, she is. Gave us a right scare, but the Healers were able to fix all the damage caused by the spell. We’re hoping she’ll be released from hospital tomorrow and then she can spend the rest of the week resting at home.”

 

“Oh, what a relief,” Harry said, feeling the final knot of tension labelled Molly Weasley dissolve. “I talked to Ron, but I just needed to hear it in person, you know?”

 

“I do, yes.” Bill smiled again. “She asked about you, of course. I told her you were fine. I hope that’s true?”

 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. A few minor things Pomfrey fixed right up. You? I heard from Ron that the rest of the family was basically ok.”

 

Fred and George wandered over and caught what Harry had said.

 

“Fred got hit by some nasty spell that had him howling in pain,” George said, grinning as he shot his twin a look. “Crying like a baby, he was.”

 

“You’re confusing me with you again, George,” Fred retorted with a grin of his own. “You’re the one who was sobbing into his hanky while Madam Pomfrey healed up that tiny scratch you had on your arm.”

 

Harry grinned at the pair of them. They were always able to bring a little lightness into an otherwise very sombre and tense room.

 

Dumbledore called for the meeting to begin before Harry could find Ron or Hermione, so he sat with the twins and Bill.

 

Dumbledore started by briefly memorialising the two Order members and three Aurors who had died. Following a moment of silence, he went on to list all who had been seriously injured, which included Molly, Moody, and another newer member named Ribald Jones. Since the second wizarding war had started, the current Order members had been quietly recruiting new people to join, and the Order had grown to about forty members. The increased size of the group, along with the fact that Hogwarts was currently closed and therefore available, had shifted Headquarters away from Grimmauld Place. Harry had met all the members but really only knew “the old guard” like the Weasleys and Dumbledore very well.

 

All of the Order was present for this meeting, and Dumbledore surveyed the assembled group very seriously.

 

“The battle in which many of us participated last night was most certainly a well-planned ambush. Death Eaters were lying in wait at many of the locations individuals were assigned as their Apparition point. We need to try and ascertain how they knew this.”

 

“I believe I am at fault for this,” Snape said. “I told you about the two towns the Dark Lord was considering for an attack but disregarded. He knows I tell Albus information that is considered safe—unimportant. I assumed the names of those two towns were unimportant. I believe it was a set up.”

 

“You believe he wanted you to tell us,” Harry said. “He used you.”

 

Snape inclined his head. “I believe so. I have not been called since the battle, but I expect the Dark Lord may enjoy gloating over his clever plan. If that is the case, I will let you all know. The Apparition points we chose were logical, and I suspect the Death Eaters just made some of their own logical deductions as to where people would appear.”

 

“That would make sense,” Bill commented. “From talking to people, I know not everyone had Death Eaters waiting for them when they arrived. It looks like the Death Eaters made some lucky guesses, and some of us were unluckily in the wrong places at the wrong times.”

 

As it seemed the question of how Voldemort knew they’d show up in Brimley was answered, there was some general discussion about what had occurred during the battle, what strategies had worked, and which ones hadn’t.

 

At one point someone said, “One good thing is that we got one of the major players last night. Anyone know who killed Lucius Malfoy?”

 

Harry silently cursed the man, whose name he had forgotten, for bringing up Lucius’ death with his son sitting right at the table. Before he could decide whether or not to say anything, Draco spoke up.

 

“I did.”

 

A weighted curtain of sudden silence fell.

 

The same idiot who’d spoken before blurted out: “You killed your own father?”

 

Draco’s face was an expressionless mask, though his eyes glittered strangely. “I had no choice. It was him or me.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

Everyone remained quiet until Draco left the Great Hall. Harry felt as though he should go after him but wasn’t sure if Malfoy would welcome any sympathy.

 

“Merlin, Darby, have you no tact at all?” Tonks demanded.

 

The man looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think—I mean—I didn’t know—”

 

“I am sure Draco Malfoy has bigger worries than your insensitivity, Darby,” McGonagall said sternly, “but do try to think before you speak next time.”

 

Chastened, Darby simply nodded. Dumbledore rescued the man by redirecting the conversation.

 

“We suspected Harry had been targeted when he was abducted from Diagon Alley; it now looks as though Voldemort is setting traps for us,” Dumbledore said. “We must be more careful planning our arrival at attacks.”

 

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Dumbledore wrapped up the meeting with a final word about remaining cautious and keeping alert for any information that may help prevent future attacks.

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

Harry went straight upstairs when he returned to Grimmauld Place. He’d stuck around after the meeting to chat with various people, but the whole time he’d been strangely anxious to find out how Draco was doing. Harry wasn’t used to being so concerned for Malfoy’s wellbeing, so he felt a bit awkward about it, but he was worried, and he was going to check up on him.

 

He knocked on Draco’s closed door and asked, “Can I come in?”

 

“It’s open.”

 

Harry walked in to find Draco sitting propped against the headboard of his bed. He was still fully dressed in the robes he’d worn to the Order meeting—Malfoy always wore robes to the meetings, but Harry couldn’t be bothered.

 

“I’m sorry about that arsehole Darby at the meeting,” Harry said, not entirely sure of how to begin now that he was face-to-face with Draco. “Tonks and McGonagall both gave him what for after you left.”

 

Draco shrugged, a jerky movement of his shoulder. “It was bound to come out sooner or later.”

 

Harry hesitated before asking, “How are you? I mean, really, how are you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Draco answered, looking a bit lost. Then his expression turned bitter. “How is one supposed to feel after committing patricide?”

 

“I guess it depends on the circumstances,” Harry replied carefully. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to a chair. Draco waved in permission.

 

“As I was saying, if a person just murdered their father for the hell of it, or for something petty, I’d say that person would feel differently than someone like you who did it in self-defence.”

 

“It doesn’t make me any less of a murderer. Twice over now.”

 

“If you’re a murderer for killing in self-defence, then I am too.”

 

Draco lifted a brow. “Are you?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, sighing deeply. He hadn’t planned on telling Draco, but the words had popped out before he could stop them. He supposed he’d run out of the energy he’d been using to supress his thoughts all day. “I killed a Death Eater last night.” He went on to explain what had happened during the duel and how he’d ended up slitting the man’s throat open.

 

“Messy,” Draco commented and surprised Harry into snorting out a laugh.

 

“Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“Was he one of the ones who tortured you?” Draco asked softly.

 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. You know how most of them wore their masks all the time, bloody cowards. Couldn’t even properly face me when they did all that to me.”

 

“Do you want to know? If you described him, I might be able to tell you.”

 

Harry thought this over. “Yes, I think I would like to know. He was average height, had auburn hair and brown eyes. Long thin face and long thin nose.”

 

Draco nodded. “I know him, and yes, he was one of those who tortured you. His name was Joseph Moore.” He paused. “Does it make you feel better about having killed him, knowing what he did to you?”

 

Harry pondered this for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be feeling after killing someone, much less someone who tortured me. I saw other Death Eaters I did recognise, and when I did, I wasn’t sorry to know two of my tormenters were dead. There was a third, but I didn’t recognise him.”

 

“Do you want to describe him?”  
  
“No, it doesn’t really matter.” He paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

Draco nodded.

 

“The first time you killed…how did you feel afterwards?”

 

“It’s a bit hard to describe,” Draco said slowly. “Not satisfaction. Not pride. Not even horror. I really felt…a sort of nothingness.”

 

“Like being numb?”

 

“Yes. I felt…hollow. Empty.”

 

Harry nodded slowly. “I know that feeling. Can you tell me what you felt later—after the numbness wore off? I’m wondering what to expect.”

 

“To be honest, I tried my best to pretend it hadn’t happened,” Draco admitted. “But…”

 

“Did you feel guilty?”

 

Draco hesitated before apparently deciding to be honest. “Yes, I did feel guilty. It took me a while to figure out that was what I was feeling. I’ve never been prone to feeling guilty about things I’ve done.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

Draco’s lips turned up at the corner.

 

“So why did you feel guilty?”

 

“Well, I just killed her. She hadn’t done anything to me.”

 

“But you did it to save yourself, so in a way it was self-defence.”

 

“Self-preservation is more like it. Slytherins are very good at self-preservation.”

 

“Semantics,” Harry said, waving it aside. “The end result was the same—you saved yourself. Just like you saved yourself from your father.”

 

He hesitated, then decided to bring the conversation back round to where it had started by asking softly, “Will you tell me what happened with Lucius?”

 

Draco just looked at Harry for a long moment before speaking. “I had just finished duelling with someone else when I felt my glamour dissolve. I knew right away it had to be him. I knew it before he called my name.

 

“I didn’t respond—just got out of the way as I knew my father was aiming for my back. I could _feel_ it. Then I made sure I got into a defensible position before I faced him. A few words were exchanged and we duelled.”

 

Draco stared down at his hands in his lap for a moment before looking up and continuing. “I had him on the defensive at first—hit him hard with a cutting curse to his chest. It felt fucking good to do that,” he added bitterly, making Harry wonder yet again about Draco’s relationship with his father. “But after a few minutes of me pushing him back, he came back at me, and I was on the defensive. I knew he was trying to back me into the wall of a building behind me, and I was determined that was not going to happen. If it did, I was dead.”

 

“When I saw you, you were close to a building. That’s when I shouted Lucius’ name,” Harry said, keeping his eyes locked on Draco.

 

Draco met his eyes. “I’m indebted to you for it. I’d made a mistake by not being able to kill him earlier when I had the chance. I was…I was…I just couldn’t. I knew I had to, I knew it was the only way I’d ever really be free of him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not then. If you hadn’t distracted him…well, you did, and I took the opportunity. I cast the Killing Curse and ended it. Ended him.”

 

Draco abruptly shoved up from the bed.

 

“ _Dammit!”_ he yelled. “Why the fuck did he do that to me?” He paced up and down the room, more visibly angry than Harry’d seen him in ages. “Why did he have to come after me? He forced the duel; he forced me to have to kill him. Have to kill my own father.” He made an angry, useless gesture with his hands. “How the fuck did this get to be my life? It was never supposed to be this way. I hate the fucking bastard for getting me into this, for fucking up my life. I hate him for making me kill him. I just fucking _hate_ him!”

 

Draco ran out of steam and sat down wearily on his bed, dropping his head into his hands. “I fucking hate him, but I can’t believe I actually killed him.”

 

“When you start feeling guilty—and you probably will, if you don’t already—you need to remember what you just said about him forcing you to kill him,” Harry said quietly. “He attacked you. He came after you, came looking for you. He planned to kill his own son, planned to commit…whatever –icide word means kill your son.”

 

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know the word for it either.” He paused and then looked up at Harry. “I know you’re right. I know it was self-defence, and it wasn’t my fault. As far as I’m concerned, everything is all his fault, starting with this damned Dark Mark,” he finished, pushing up his sleeve to stare malevolently at the ugly black tattoo.

 

Harry considered for a moment if he should ask his next question. He decided to go for it. “Are you sorry you killed him?”

 

Draco inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought. I’ve come to the conclusion I’m not sorry he’s dead. I’m just sorry he put me in the position of being the one who had to do it.”

 

“Can I be honest?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“I feel the same way. I’m not at all sorry Lucius Malfoy is dead. But I am sorry it was you who had to do it. It’s not fair. It’s not right for a son to be forced to kill his father, no matter who he is.”

 

Harry tilted his head as something occurred to him. “I wonder how he knew it was you? I mean, how he knew which person was using a glamour.”

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he was using the counter spell against everyone he saw in the hope of finding me. That spell can actually be swept over a small area, and it will affect anyone within that area.”

 

“I didn’t know that. Well, let’s hope no one else thinks to use that spell—we need to keep using the glamours during battle.”

 

“Perhaps we should create new ones, mix them up.”

 

“Not a bad idea,” Harry agreed. Then he sighed and grimaced as the mention of battle had a thought popping into his head. When Draco looked at him questioningly, he said, “It keeps jumping up at me at odd moments. The fact that I’ve killed now.”

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

“No,” Harry said without hesitation. “I didn’t like to think about it, but somewhere inside me I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially I after started using the Dark spells. And knowing the man I killed was one of the men who tortured me does help a little.” Now he hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“There are times when I…” Harry cleared his throat, “…when I want to kill all of them. I mean, not just in an abstract way, but I think about how I’d like to do it, in the most painful ways possible. How I’d want them to suffer before I killed them. I imagine doing it in great detail. And when I’m thinking about all that, I feel—”

 

“Feel what?” Draco asked when Harry broke off, but he thought he knew.

 

“I feel a kind of terrible pleasure. Satisfaction. I think I’d almost…enjoy killing them.” He looked at Draco, and Draco could see the turmoil in his eyes, in his tight expression. “Does that make me a monster? Is there something wrong with me for feeling like that? For fantasising about killing them?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Draco said. “I think it’s normal. Pot—er, Harry, you were tortured. For days. You withstood what most people couldn’t stand for more than two or three days for nine. Wanting vengeance…I’d think it stranger if you didn’t want to punish them. To kill them.”

 

“That’s how I keep rationalising it,” Harry admitted. “But enjoying it…?”

 

“I certainly would, if I were you. But you aren’t me, so it’s bothering you. Harry, you’re an inherently good person—that’s fairly obvious to anyone who gets to know you at all, even a Slytherin like me. I doubt you’ve ever felt the kind of anger you feel now, much less this need for violent revenge. It’s in conflict with who you’ve been your entire life. So your conscience is struggling with it. I think there’s violence in all of us. Most people never have a reason to really use it. You do.”  

 

Harry nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. There are times I’m not sure I recognise myself. I’m not the same person I was before I was captured. Something has changed inside me. Something…important has changed. Something essential.”

 

“You need time to get used to that change. Let me ask you this: you’ve killed one of the men who tortured you, and you saw two others dead. Did you enjoy seeing them dead? Killing Moore?”

 

Harry licked his lips. “I wasn’t sorry to see those two dead, and I might have felt a little satisfaction. I didn’t know Moore was one of the ones who tortured me when I killed him though. I don’t know if that makes a difference. Had I known, would I have deliberately aimed to kill? Would I have still used that cutting curse to give him pain, or would I have just tried to use the Killing Curse, make it quick? I can’t answer those questions.”

 

“Give it some thought. But I wouldn’t waste my time feeling bad for wanting to kill them as painfully as possible. In my opinion, it’s a natural reaction. One that may even fade with time.”

 

“I hope you’re right. I don’t like being angry so often. I don’t like the thought that this need for bloody revenge will be popping up so often.”

 

“Then it probably will fade. You’re being very hard on yourself, Harry. It’s only been a few weeks. Give yourself a break. Most people probably wouldn’t even be functioning yet after going through what you did. I imagine some people would still be lying in bed, feeling bitterness and self-pity and constant rage. You’re not. That in itself is amazing.”

 

Harry shrugged, a little uncomfortable. He didn’t feel amazing, but he supposed Draco had a point. There were times he wanted to pull the covers over his head and never get out of bed again, but he didn’t do it. He didn’t know why he was functioning as well as he was. He thought it was partly due to necessity—he couldn’t let Voldemort win.

 

He decided he’d had enough of discussing his personal problems but was grateful to Draco for talking him through them. “Um, thank you for talking about all this with me. I feel a little better.”

 

Draco just nodded. He didn’t feel any thanks were necessary, because if he were honest, talking with Harry had made him feel a little better too.

 

“I imagine you’re tired,” Harry said, standing. He figured they’d both had enough talking about emotional things. It wasn’t what either of them was used to doing, especially not with each other. Harry was aware though that he’d felt surprisingly comfortable discussing all of it with Draco. “I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”

 

Draco stood as well. They watched each other for a moment before Harry looked Draco up and down and smirked a little. Perhaps he could leave things on a little lighter note.

 

“You know, I don’t like it when you wear robes.”

 

“Why is that?” Draco asked, looking a little surprised by the comment.

 

“I can’t see your body. I like it better when you just wear a shirt and trousers. Or preferably just a towel.” Harry walked closer to Draco, stopping only when their bodies brushed against each other. He leaned in and whispered hotly in his ear, _“I still want you.”_

 

Harry could feel the shudder that went through Draco’s body and knew he wasn’t alone in how he felt.

 

“Of course you do,” Draco drawled, sounding more like his usual self.

 

Harry laughed and backed away. “Good night, Draco. Sweet dreams.” He winked. And raked his eyes over Draco one last time. “I know mine will be.”

 

After that parting shot, Harry made himself leave before he got himself in trouble.

 

 

 

*****************************************************************************************

 

 

Draco pondered the conversation with Potter—he was having a hard time always thinking of him as Harry—after he’d left. Of course, the bastard had gotten him stirred up first—when he’d felt that warm breath drift against his ear, he hadn’t been able to withhold a response, and he knew Potter had noticed. Damn him. Hadn’t they agreed nothing could happen? Potter never did play by the rules, not even his own it seemed.

 

He’d surprised himself at how open and frank he’d been with Potter. He’d been talking and answering his questions without really thinking about it. He was used to being very careful with what he said, how he said it, and to whom he said it. Potter had gotten him talking about his _feelings,_ something Draco never did. Ever. With anyone.

 

But it hadn’t felt strange. Or awkward. Or embarrassing. Potter’s questions hadn’t been invasive or nosy—they were just questions about things they were both dealing with that no one should ever have to deal with: killing people.

 

Draco couldn’t believe he’d put on that emotional display in front of Potter. He’d let his anger show; he’d raised his voice. He imagined he’d let a lot of the turmoil he was feeling show on his face as well. He should be embarrassed. He wasn’t. Why wasn’t he?

 

A couple of months ago he would have never dreamed he’d feel comfortable talking with _Potter_ about anything. But in less than two months he apparently felt safe enough to not only show his emotions but to _discuss_ them. How did Potter do it? How could Potter have possibly gotten through his carefully built walls enough that he was letting Potter see him, Draco? Not Malfoy. Not Death Eater. Not even Slytherin. But Draco. He wasn’t even sure if he knew who Draco was anymore, but it seemed he didn’t mind Potter knowing who he was.

 

It was a puzzle and one Draco really didn’t know how to solve. He’d never been able to really understand Potter. He was humble but bold; determined yet unsure of himself. He risked his life on a regular basis but didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Potter had the weight of the world riding on his shoulders, but most of the time he seemed to take it in stride. He’d suffered cruelty upon cruelty when held captive for days, but it didn’t seem to have changed him greatly. Not at the core. Yes, he was feeling the need for revenge, but of course he was also bothered by the fact he wanted it.

 

He couldn’t judge for himself how much Potter had truly changed, as he hadn’t really known him as a person for very long, but as he’d just told Potter, most people would have changed so greatly they might never go back to even resembling who they’d formerly been. And Harry had.

 

Of course there was one significant change. The simple fact that Harry Potter was friendly with him, obviously felt comfortable enough with him to talk about things like how he felt about killing and wanting revenge, was quite a change in Draco’s opinion. And he also had a hunch Potter was more open with him, Draco Malfoy, about what he’d experienced than he was with his so-called best friends. He wondered how Potter would have reacted to killing a man prior to his experience being tortured. He didn’t think he’d be handling it so calmly.

 

Torture hadn’t broken Potter; it had made him stronger. Even Draco could see that, and he really barely knew the man—the real man inside the famous Harry Potter shell. Who was Harry Potter? He was kind, even to former Death Eaters. He was impatient, especially with anyone bent on disparaging someone else. He was strong enough to stand up to his friends when necessary but still very dependent upon them. He was the Chosen One, but he was also just a man; a young man who hadn’t yet finished his schooling. He was one of the most powerful wizards Draco knew of, yet he didn’t think of himself as anything special.

 

And he was a bloody brilliant kisser.

 

Damn him.

 

 

******************************************************************************

 

 

The first group training since the battle and since the day Malfoy had knocked Ron on his arse occurred the next day. Harry had warned Draco that ignoring Ron and everything that had happened between them that day was the best course of action, and Draco had agreed. He’d smirked, and Harry could just see the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he’d agreed.

 

After a general discussion of how they each felt they’d done in battle, what they felt they needed to work on, and which areas they felt confident in, they began practising. Remus had them working with the magical practise dummy. He’d shout out a spell as if he were the dummy, and whoever was up at the moment had to defend against that spell or attack the dummy. If Remus or one of the others thought the defence used wouldn’t succeed in a real fight, they’d call a “hit.” After three hits, the next person was up.

 

When it was Harry’s turn he did well enough. He went quite a while before being “hit” for the first time. When he next went to attack, the spell that popped into his head was not only a Dark one, but was the one he’d used to kill the Death Eater. He hesitated for just a moment—and got hit again.

 

“What was that, Potter?” Draco said, interrupting the practise. “You hesitated just then. You can’t ever hesitate.”

 

“I know,” Harry snapped, irritated with himself more than Draco.

 

“Whatever spell comes into your mind as the best to use, you have to use it, no matter what,” Draco persisted, watching Harry with eyes that seemed to see too much. Harry understood Draco knew why he’d hesitated, and of course he was being a bastard and pushing him on it.

 

“I know!” Harry repeated, more than a bit testily. “I wasn’t sure what spell to use, and I thought about it too long. I’m not bloody perfect.”

 

“More like you weren’t sure if you _should_ use it, I wager.”

 

“Fuck you, Malfoy. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry retorted, agitation with Malfoy stirring his anger and straining the already tenuous hold he had on his emotions.

 

“Don’t I?” Malfoy taunted. “You know I do.”

 

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Ron interjected angrily.

 

“Shut it, Ron, stay out of this. This is between me and Malfoy,” Harry said sharply. He didn’t have to see Ron’s face to know he was stunned by his response. He knew everyone in the room was watching the two of them in avid fascination. He was sure they expected to have to break up a fight at any moment.

 

“If you don’t think you can cast it, remove it from your mind entirely. Forget it. Don’t let it be an option if it’s not an option you’re capable of using,” Draco said harshly, as if Ron had never interrupted.

 

“Could _you_ do it again?” Harry demanded, referring obliquely to Draco using the Killing Curse.

 

“I’ve done it before, and I would do it again, if it were necessary,” Malfoy said coldly.

 

Harry’s temper had reached the boiling point. He was emotional—somewhere inside himself he knew he was reacting this strongly because he hadn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d killed only two days before. But he didn’t care.

 

“Fine,” he bit out. “You want to see me do it?”

 

“If you can,” Malfoy sneered, egging him on. “Just the same as you did in the battle.”

 

Harry spun around and fired the cutting curse at the dummy’s neck. It split wide open, disgorging a red ocean of blood that flowed down and onto the floor before magically disappearing.

 

Harry heard the gasps go around the room and cursed himself for letting Malfoy goad him that way. His friends didn’t need to know he was using Dark magic. He didn’t want his friends seeing the violent side of himself, one he was really just discovering.

 

“That was you, Harry?” Fred asked, in obvious disbelief. For once he wasn’t joking around. “I saw a body that looked like that after the battle. Throat slit ear to ear.”

 

Now Harry was really cursing himself—and Malfoy. He should have known someone would have seen the body and could now put two and two together and figure out he was the culprit.

 

Harry felt the weight of everyone’s stares and didn’t bother to lie. He sucked at lying about simple things, and this was far from simple.

 

“Yes,” he said tightly. “It was me.”

 

“You killed someone?” Hermione asked weakly.

 

“That’s Dark magic, Harry,” Ron said, sounding both awed and shocked.

 

“I know. And yes, I killed that man. It wasn’t my intention—I was trying to incapacitate him. I aimed at his chest, but the idiot ducked, and my spell caught him across the throat instead.”

 

Hermione was staring at him, agog. “But you still used that spell intentionally, Harry. I know we’ve learned to recognise Dark spells, but I thought it was so we could defend against them, not actually use them against other people.”

 

Harry really didn’t need Hermione as his conscience right now. His own was bothering him enough.

 

“Dark magic is dangerous, Harry,” Hermione continued. “I can’t believe you’re using it.”

 

“That is some rather powerful Dark magic, Harry,” Remus commented, glancing at Draco. “You had to have practised it.”

 

‘Traitor,’ Harry thought uncharitably. Why was everyone hounding him about this? He didn’t need this. He was already questioning himself a little, starting to feel a bit of guilt for taking someone’s life, even if it was a Death Eater in a war. He didn’t need them making him feel guilty about how he’d done it, too. He hadn’t had a problem with the method—until now. Did they all think he was as bad as a Death Eater now?

 

He glowered at Remus for bringing up the issue of practising Dark magic in front of an audience. Remus was unmoved.

 

“Yes,” he ground out. “I’ve practised it. I’ve practised other Dark spells, too. Am I to be flogged?”

 

“It’s Malfoy’s doing,” Ron said hotly. “He’s the one who’s been showing us Dark spells Death Eaters like to use. Now he’s got you doing them!”

 

“God! Give it a rest, Ron! Everything bad that happens in the world isn’t Malfoy’s fault,” Harry shouted, completely out of patience. “This was _me_. _I_ asked Malfoy to teach me those spells. I asked him to practise them with me. I _wanted_ to learn them. I _planned_ to use them. We’re fighting a fucking war here. I’ve got to kill the most powerful Dark wizard in ages, and I’m not going to do it with sunshine and roses. I’m fighting fire with fire, and I’m going to fucking _win_. Anyone who has a problem with that can get the hell out of my house!”

 

He turned and strode out of the room, fury in every step.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

Remus pulled Harry aside after breakfast the following morning. Harry immediately went on the defensive.

 

“Don’t waste your breath telling me to stop using Dark magic in battle, Remus. It’s not going to happen.”

 

“Yes, you made that quite clear yesterday. I’m not here to question you on that.”

 

“You’re not?” Harry had been braced for an argument, but Remus’ statement caught him off guard. He frowned.

 

“No, I’m not,” Remus said, smiling a little at Harry’s obvious suspicion. “I trust you, Harry, and if you believe you can handle learning a few Dark spells, I’ll trust your judgement. I understand why you decided to learn them and use them. Of course, it goes without saying that I want you to be careful. And if it should look like you’re getting in a little too deep, I will question you then.”

“I’d want you to,” Harry said honestly. “I’ve no desire to immerse myself in the Dark Arts—they hold no appeal for me. If you suspected I’d gotten in over my head, I’d want you to say something.”

 

“Good. Well, then, that’s settled. The reason I wanted to talk with you is I wanted to see how you were doing. I’m pretty sure that before this most recent battle, you’d never killed before.”

 

“Oh. Uh, no, I hadn’t.”

 

“Are you coping with it all right? Taking a life, even in battle, can be very difficult to come to terms with.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. “I’m doing all right. At first I was just sort of numb, you know? I suppose I started to feel a little guilty yesterday what with everyone staring at me like I was Voldemort’s younger brother, but nothing major. I don’t regret it; I didn’t intend to kill, but I don’t regret that my actions caused that Death Eater to die. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be feeling. Maybe I’m in shock or something, and it will wear off later and I’ll have some delayed reaction. I don’t know. All I know is that right now I really don’t feel much of anything.”

 

“Everyone reacts to events they experience in war differently. Some people can handle things very calmly. They can accept their actions as necessary and move on—some quickly, some after a bit of time. Others wrestle with the morality of killing, even in a war. Then there are those who feel such guilt for what they’ve done, they break a little. They aren’t able to continue. None of those reactions are right and none are wrong. They are simply different. I’m thinking you fall into the first category, Harry. You accept. You don’t want to do it, but you accept it.”

 

Harry nodded slowly. “I think you may be right. Acceptance…yes, I think I have accepted the fact that I have to kill. We all know it’s something I’m going to have to do to end this war, whether I like it or not. I’m hoping the only other person I’m forced to kill is Voldemort, but if there are others…if their deaths are necessary to protect my own life or someone else’s…I think I’ve made my peace with that.” He tilted his head and studied Remus thoughtfully. “Were you born this wise?”

 

Remus chuckled. “I’ve always been a thinker, but whatever wisdom I may have has come from living in a complicated world. I’m glad you’re handling all this so well, Harry. You’re going through terrible things very few people ever do and not only surviving, but moving forward. I’m proud of you.”

 

“Oh. Uh, well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

 

Remus smiled seriously. “I hope you know you can come to me any time if you need to talk. Not just about killing or war, but anything.”

 

“I do know that. I know there have been times…there have been times you’ve asked me if I was…all right. I can’t…there are some things I just can’t talk about. Not yet, anyway. I know I probably need to, but I just…I just can’t. But it helps to know you’ll listen if I ever do want to talk about…things.”

 

Remus nodded. “Whatever you need.” He rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder for a moment, connecting them. “I’ll let you get on with whatever it is you have planned for the day. I’ll be at Hogwarts again if you need me.”

 

“All right. See you later.”

 

Harry wandered off to the drawing room, thinking hard about his conversation with Remus. Acceptance. Acceptance of having to kill. Yes, that made sense. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he’d thought about having to kill or be killed so often he supposed it had been a gradual thing. And he supposed he was glad it had happened—he didn’t have the time or desire to be bogged down with feelings of guilt or anger at himself.  

 

He was still sitting in the drawing room with Draco when Hermione and Ron showed up unannounced. Harry wasn’t surprised. His conversation with Remus about his use of Dark magic had been easy, but he held no illusions that this conversation would be so simple. And it seemed the time to deal with it all had arrived.

 

“Hello, Harry. Um, hello, Malfoy,” Hermione said. “Harry, we’d like to talk to you.”

 

Draco stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to my room.”

 

“You can stay here, we’ll go up to my room,” Harry offered.

 

“No need.” Draco nodded to both Hermione and Ron and left the room, pulling the pocket doors closed behind him.

 

Then Draco stepped to the side and listened carefully. He grinned to himself. They’d forgotten to ward the door with a privacy spell. This was a conversation too good to miss. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and pressed his ear to the door. He wished he had one of the Weasley Extendable Ears.

 

Harry motioned for his friends to have a seat. He offered tea as a stalling tactic, but his offer was declined.

 

“Harry, I’m really worried about you getting involved in the Dark Arts. It’s not like you. It’s not safe,” Hermione started without preamble.

 

“It is a rather big risk you’re taking, mate,” Ron agreed.

 

“I’m not involved with the Dark Arts,” Harry protested. “I’m not studying them, I’m not brewing up evil potions, and I’m not sitting around thinking up new ways to hurt people. I’ve simply learned a few Dark spells. What do you think is going to happen?”

 

“Well, Dark wizards—” Ron started.

 

“Dark wizards!” Harry exclaimed. “Do you really think I’m going to become a Dark wizard?”

 

Draco didn’t think he could think of anyone less likely to become a Dark wizard than Harry Potter.

 

“No, Harry, not at all,” Hermione said hastily. “You’re too good a person to ever turn Dark.”

 

Harry thought it interesting that Draco had basically said the same thing. Responding to Hermione, he tried not to let his exasperation show. “Then what is the big deal? If I’m a good person, I should be able to handle learning a few ‘bad’ spells.”

 

“It can still be very dangerous,” Hermione insisted. “Have you really thought this through? Could Malfoy be influencing you?”

 

Harry waved the idea of Malfoy influencing him aside. “No, no one is influencing me. I gave this a lot of thought. You know what I realised? I realised it wasn’t really a decision I had to make. It had been decided for me the moment Voldemort put this scar on my head,” he said, gesturing to his infamous lightning bolt. “The decision was made for me the moment the prophecy was put into motion.

 

“I wasn’t given the luxury of being able to decide if I wanted to be the one to kill a Dark wizard; therefore, if I plan to succeed—and I do—I have to use any means necessary. I have to kill Voldemort with _something_. I’m not going to avoid putting a weapon in my arsenal just because it makes some people uncomfortable.”

 

Ron cleared his throat. “If you think you can handle it, then I guess it’s your call. But I wouldn’t go advertising you’re using Dark magic. It would make some people more than just uncomfortable. Some people are dead set against it—they don’t believe there is ever a time or place to use it.”

 

Harry suspected Hermione fell into that camp but didn’t comment on it. Instead he asked, “What makes a spell Dark? And don’t say because the Ministry said so because the Ministry’s full of shite.”

 

Hermione frowned reprovingly but answered, “I think the most important reason a spell is categorised as Dark is intent. A Dark spell’s purpose is to cause harm.”

 

“And that cutting curse you used is definitely intended to cause harm,” Ron added wryly.

 

“I know it is. I’m not questioning it’s Dark—I’ve already said it was. But what about _my_ intent? Does that get taken into account?”

 

“What intent do you have other than to cause harm with that curse?” Ron asked, looking rather puzzled.

 

“My intent is to cause harm to an individual,” Harry admitted. “An individual who is actively seeking to hurt other, innocent people. I’m trying to stop them. I’m doing it to prevent them from doing even worse things. I’m doing it for the sake of saving the wizarding world. So is my overall intent actually bad?”

 

‘Potter,’ Draco thought, ‘You’re more clever than I gave you credit for.’

 

Hermione couldn’t seem to figure out a way to argue against Harry’s logic at first. She finally said, “You’re walking a very fine line, Harry. Are you even considering the potential harm to yourself?”

 

“I’m not going to turn Dark,” Harry insisted.

 

“That isn’t what I meant exactly. I meant…I think using Dark magic to hurt and…kill people, even if you believe your purpose is for the greater good, I think it must change something in you. You’ve seemed angrier than usual lately. The last few times we’ve gotten together for practice, you’ve been a little moody. A little withdrawn. I hope it isn’t the influence of using Dark magic.”

 

Harry was silent for a long time, trying to decide if he should say what he was considering telling them. He didn’t want their opinion of him to be changed for the worse, and he didn’t want to frighten or worry them. And he didn’t want to negate what he’d just said about being a good person and not becoming a Dark wizard.

 

But he also needed to talk; he knew this—he’d even just sort of admitted it to Remus. These were his friends, the people he _should_ be talking to about this. He’d talked to Draco about this before he’d talked to his best friends, but he’d known Draco wouldn’t judge him. As much as he loved Hermione and Ron, he was afraid they might.

 

“I’m dealing with a lot of shit,” he finally said, “and it doesn’t always put me in the best frame of mind. And I am angry, Hermione, but it’s not because I’ve used some Dark magic. There are times I feel a hell of a lot of anger about the fact that I was tortured for nine days. I think I have the right to be angry.”

 

“Of course you do,” Ron said staunchly. “Those bastards put you through hell.”

 

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel angry,” Hermione said quickly. “I’d be angry too. But…anger and the Dark Arts don’t mix well. I’m worried about you. Is this…is this desire to learn Dark spells to use against the Death Eaters really just a way of getting revenge?”

 

“You don’t think he deserves to get a little revenge?” Ron asked incredulously.

 

Hermione looked torn, and Harry stepped in to save her.

 

“Am I after revenge? Yes, I suppose I am, to an extent, though I feel it’s as much vengeance as revenge.”

 

“What the difference?” Ron asked.

 

Harry smiled coldly. “Vengeance is about justice. Revenge is payback.”

 

“Oh,” Ron said, not sure he liked the look on Harry’s face. “Well, I think it’s fair for you to want both.”

 

“At first I told myself I wasn’t after revenge. I’ve never considered myself to be a vengeful person before. I’ve had serious things to want to avenge, like Sirius’ and my parents’ deaths, but this...this is different. Maybe because while their deaths hurt me, they were killed for reasons not specifically designed for the purpose of hurting me. But being tortured was done deliberately to _me_. So even though I told myself at first that I wasn’t seeking revenge, I realised I was lying to myself.

 

“I killed for the first time the other night. It isn’t something I take lightly, but killing that Death Eater isn’t something I regret. I’m not sorry I killed him. I’m not sorry I killed him with a Dark spell. And I actually got a little of that revenge inadvertently by killing that man—he was one of the ones who tortured me.”

 

“Then I’m glad you killed him,” Ron said darkly.

 

“Did you recognise him when you were fighting him?” Hermione asked. “Is that why you used the spell you did?”

 

“No. I used that spell because I was fighting for my life against a man who was using Dark magic against me. I wasn’t even intending to kill. And no, I didn’t recognise him. He was one of the many who kept their masks on when they tortured me.”

 

“Then how do you know…?”

 

“I asked Malfoy. I described the man, and he confirmed he was one of the ones who tortured me.”

 

Hermione looked like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask but went ahead. “Does that…does knowing that make it easier to handle having…killed someone? I mean, I don’t know how I’d be coping with having killed someone, but I don’t think I’d be handling it as well as you seem to be.”

 

“It’s funny, but I just talked to Remus about this same thing. I’m not proud to have killed by any means, but I am proud that I’m standing up and doing everything I can to win this war. If that includes having to kill…I’ve accepted that. We all know I have to kill Voldemort. No one questions that I should kill him or that he deserves to die. Everyone just expects me to commit murder. No one asked me if I wanted to. No one asked how I felt about being expected to kill someone, to take someone’s life. It was just assumed that I’d do it. How I might feel about becoming a murderer while I’m still a teenager was never taken into consideration.”

 

Harry noted the guilty expressions on his friends’ faces. Of everyone, the two of them had given him the most support about being thrust into the unenviable position of being forced into fighting a Dark wizard to the death. They’d talked about his fear, how he felt completely overwhelmed by the prophecy. But they’d never directly addressed the issue of the fact that in order to survive, he’d have to kill. Commit murder.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, her eyes stricken. “I—”

 

Harry lifted a hand and tried to smile reassuringly, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “I’m not really talking about the two of you. We’ve talked about this, especially when I first told you about the prophecy. You’ve always supported me, been there for me, and I can’t thank you enough for it. But you’re basically the only people who ever talked to me about it. Who bothered to talk to me about how I felt. Everyone else just assumed I’d do it, that I wouldn’t mind risking my life and having to kill in order to save my life and everyone else’s.

 

“But I’ve accepted the responsibility, and my ultimate task is to kill a Dark wizard. Voldemort is my target, and he may be the king of evil wizards, but he’s not the _only_ evil wizard. So if it’s perfectly acceptable for me to kill Voldemort, I’m not going to question myself if I’m up against another evil wizard and I have to kill or be killed. I’ll kill. I hope that situation only occurs one more time, when I face Voldemort, but I’m realistic enough to know it may happen again before I defeat Voldemort.”

 

As Harry spoke of everyone assuming he was all right with the idea of fighting a Dark Lord and committing murder, Draco felt an uncomfortable flush of guilt. When Harry had told him about the prophecy, it hadn’t occurred to him that Harry might not want to kill anyone. Of course, he hadn’t really been friends with Harry at the time, and it was obvious Harry had accepted the task as he spent hours training for it, but still. They’d even talked about Draco being forced to kill the Muggle woman, and Harry had asked him what it had been like. But it had never crossed his mind to ask Harry how he felt about the prophecy.

 

His friends remained silent as Harry paused and gathered his thoughts. He wanted to get his point across, but he didn’t want to upset his friends.

 

“Hermione, Ron, you have to understand something. I’m not the same person I used to be. I’m looking at things from a perspective that is different from yours, whereas before, our perspectives would have probably been more in line.

 

“Something inside me has changed. I reckon going through torture would probably change most people. But I have changed. I’m not sure if the change is good or bad—I sort of think it’s neither; it’s simply a change. Sometimes I feel such hatred inside me; those are the times I think about revenge. Sometimes the despair I felt when I was chained to that wall hits me, and I feel it all over again. Other times I tell myself I just need to let it go, push it all aside, move on, stop dwelling on it.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Harry smiled a little before becoming serious again. “I can’t go back to being the person I was before I was captured. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but there really isn’t anything to be done for it now. So yes, sometimes I feel angry. I know I’ve been a bit on edge lately, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m handling it.”

 

“Are you? I’ve been so concerned about you going into battles, having to face Death Eaters who are probably the very same ones who… Are you _really_ coping with everything all right, Harry?” Hermione asked. “I’ve been wanting to ask, but I haven’t wanted to pry—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or bring up bad memories. But we’ve all been worried about you.”

 

Draco was very curious to hear how Potter would answer this question; he wanted to know how honest he’d be with them.

 

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth. How much to tell them?

 

“I’m doing the best I can. The second battle was easier than the first. The first was…difficult. But I know I have to get past it. I have to be able to fight. I can’t be freezing up or being terrified when I go up against Voldemort.

 

“I…I’ve had some nightmares,” he admitted. “I guess they’re more like flashbacks, though they usually happen when I’m asleep. There are times I wish…I wish I could just Obliviate myself.”

 

“Dumbledore could probably do it,” Ron said. “If you really wanted to. Sounds like a good idea to me.”

 

Harry shook his head. “But I still wouldn’t go back to being the same person I was before; this change in me is fundamental. As much as it might make things easier on me, I think I need to remember. I don’t want to be unaware of such a significant thing that happened to me. And I…I don’t know why I feel this way, but somehow I think I would still _know._ Even if I didn’t remember the details, I’d still know.”

 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Hermione asked after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

 

“Just be my friends, like you always have. I know you don’t agree with my decision to use Dark magic, but it’s a decision I made for myself. I’m not asking you to make the same decision—I’m not even trying to convince you to agree with my decision. I just…I just don’t want us to be at odds over it.”

 

“Then we won’t be,” Ron said firmly.

 

Harry smiled his thanks.

 

“I want to make sure you know you can trust me when I say I can handle knowing and casting a few Dark spells. I’ve been practising, and it’s really not a big deal.”

 

“Is it not more difficult?” Hermione asked, a bit surprised.

 

“No, it’s really not. At first, when I was learning, I’d call up some of that anger I feel. But now I don’t need to—I just cast them the same way I do any other spell.”

 

“I think it would probably be more difficult for me,” Ron said. “You’re more powerful than I am, mate. More powerful than most people, I think.”

 

For once, Draco strongly agreed with all parts of Weasley’s statement.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The point is, I’m learning these spells for one reason, and that’s destroying Voldemort. If it means I have to fight dirty, I will fight dirty. That’s why I asked Malfoy to teach me the spells. I have to be prepared for anything.”

 

“Well, at least you’ve got an expert teaching you the spells,” Ron said a bit snidely. “I guess it’s good to know the little Death Eater’s good for something.”

 

Harry didn’t bother trying to hide his exasperation this time. “Merlin, Ron, when did you develop this obsession with Malfoy? It’s ridiculous.”

 

“I’m not obsessed,” Ron scoffed. “And what’s ridiculous is the fact that you’re always standing up for him these days. I don’t understand how you could have possibly forgiven him for everything he’s done to us—especially you—in the past.”

 

Now this was an answer Draco _really_ wanted to hear, and he pressed his ear closer to the door while checking to make sure the Disillusionment Charm was still in place.

 

“It’s not necessarily that I’ve forgiven him,” Harry said slowly. “We haven’t actually talked about any of that. We kind of avoid it, to be honest. It’s more that I’ve tried to put it in my past, where it belongs. We’re at war, and I have a lot bigger things to worry about than some old petty shite that happened while we were still in school.”

 

“A lot of it wasn’t petty,” Hermione reminded him. “He did some really cruel things. Think of all he did while part of that awful woman’s Inquisitorial Squad.”

 

“And all those times he insulted Hermione and me and your parents,” Ron added.

 

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten that,” Harry said darkly. But he still thought that compared to torture and war, most of the things Malfoy had done were petty. “It’s been something I’ve been meaning to bring up with him, but something else always keeps happening, and I haven’t had a chance.”

 

“He’s a fucking prick. Don’t forget that. That’s what I think of every time I see his ugly face. Talk about wanting revenge—makes me want to kick his arse,” Ron said hotly.

 

‘As if you could, Weasel,’ Draco thought.

 

Harry let out a disbelieving snort. “Hermione’s worried about _me_ wanting revenge for someone fucking torturing me—I think she should be more worried about you wanting to kick someone’s arse because he called us names when we were twelve. Sorry, but I think I’ve got the bigger case for wanting revenge here.”

 

Hermione held up her hands for peace. “Please, can we not discuss Malfoy again? It starts a fight between the two of you every time.”

 

“Maybe if Ron could keep his gob shut and stop making sarcastic little comments about Dra—Malfoy all the time, it wouldn’t be such a big problem,” Harry snapped irritably.

 

_“Draco?_ ” Ron repeated, clearly shocked. “You’re calling him Draco now?”

 

Draco held back a laugh. Potter— _Harry_ —was going to have a bitch of a time getting out of this one.

 

Harry called himself every name in the book for being such an idiot. They’d had a relatively peaceful conversation about some very sensitive topics, and for the first time in a while, he felt like he was really back on an even keel with his best friends. Why’d he have to react to Ron’s snarky comment about Draco? Why couldn’t he have just ignored it? And why the hell did he have to slip up and call him Draco in front of Ron?

 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry said, “Yes, sometimes I call him Draco. We’re friendly. I don’t usually refer to my friends by their surname.”

 

“You’re friends with the ferret?!?” Ron yelled.

 

“Yes,” Harry snapped, trying to keep his frustration under control. “Don’t be so childish.”

 

“Wh—what—you’re friends with Malfoy?” Ron sputtered, looking stung by Harry’s comment. “How can you possibly be friends with him?”

 

“Yes!” Harry practically shouted. “I’m friends with him. Don’t ask me how—I don’t know how. It just sort of…happened.”

 

“Do you mean you’re a little friendly with Malfoy because Dumbledore asked you to be?” Hermione asked.

 

Draco’s breath caught at Granger’s statement. Was Potter really only being nice because Dumbledore had told him he had to be? The idea of it bothered Draco more than he liked to admit.

 

“No! I mean, yes, that’s how it got started. Yes, Dumbledore asked me to try and be friends. To be honest, I would have tried to be nice even if he hadn’t asked just to keep the peace. More importantly, it somehow doesn’t seem right to insult the man who saved my life. Go figure,” he added sarcastically.

 

Harry took another of those calming breaths and ordered himself not to lose his temper. “I don’t know how getting to be friends with Draco happened, but it just sort of did. We’d talk a little at breakfast. Later we’d talk about something else for a few minutes. We would talk a little during training. Then the next day we’d talk some more. It got so we were talking a lot. I got to know him a little better. You won’t believe it, but we have things in common. I actually like the guy—most of the time, anyway. He has his moments. So, no, I’m not friends with him because anyone asked me to be. We’re just friends. I know you don’t like that, and I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

 

The relief he felt at hearing Harry say all that shocked Draco. When had he started putting so much value on Harry Potter’s friendship it would have hurt to learn it was all an act? Or had at least started as one?

 

Ron was looking at Harry as if he’d sprouted a second head. Even Hermione looked completely astonished.

 

“How can you like someone who calls Hermione a Mudblood and makes fun of my family the way he does?” Ron demanded.

 

“He’s been so awful to you in the past. So awful to so many people,” Hermione added. “It’s one thing to be polite or nice to someone who saved your life; I understand that. But his beliefs about blood status, his disrespect for people he sees as lower than himself, like Hagrid and Professor Lupin and the Weasleys…I know you don’t share those beliefs, but if you’re friends with someone like Malfoy, it looks like you do.”

 

Harry hesitated. His friends had some excellent points. “You’re right, I know you’re right. He’s been an arse to us and many other people. But it’s almost like the Malfoy from school and the Draco I know now are two different people. He doesn’t say those nasty things anymore. He’s nice to Remus, and he hasn’t insulted Hermione. I think his beliefs have changed a good bit. If he still believed Muggle-borns were ruining the wizarding world, he wouldn’t be fighting on our side, would he?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione said honestly. “But I’m a bit surprised you don’t know exactly where he stands on things if you’re professing to be his friend now.”

 

Draco wondered how Potter would respond to this. As Harry had said, they’d never talked about his beliefs and how they may or may not have changed. He had sort of wondered why it had never been brought up, but as it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss, he hadn’t minded that it hadn’t been.

 

Harry wanted to shift uncomfortably. Now that he was being forced to think about it, he didn’t know why he’d been able to make friends with Malfoy without knowing for sure what his viewpoints were. Logically, it didn’t make sense that he’d become friends with someone who insulted him and called people Mudbloods. But he just had a gut feeling that Malfoy—Draco—had changed. And he supposed he was used to following his gut.

 

“I know I need to find out for sure. And I will. But from the way he behaves, some of the things he’s said…it’s just a feeling I have that he’s changed.”

 

“But Harry, even if he has changed…you come from such different backgrounds; you’re such different people. I can’t see that you really have that much in common. Maybe it’s just the circumstances—you being stuck here together that’s causing you to think you like him better than you really do. I just can’t envision the two of you as real friends; he’s just not a nice person.”

 

“And he’s a Death Eater!” Ron ground out.

 

Harry was frustrated with himself for not having better answers for his friends, and he was frustrated with the fact that he was having this conversation at all. Why could his friends never have any faith in his judgement? His patience was wearing very, very thin, and Ron’s comment really irritated him.

 

“I can’t believe how the two of you always conveniently forget the facts about Draco being a Death Eater. He was forced to take the Dark Mark. He immediately turned spy for us, risking his own life and giving up everything for our side. He risked his life to save mine. He didn’t have to do that. You always forget that, like it’s unimportant.” Harry’s voice had risen but he managed to keep himself mostly in check.

 

“It’s not unimportant,” Hermione said quietly. “We’re very grateful to him. But it’s a little hard to believe he didn’t want to be a Death Eater after the things he said and the way he worshipped his father all through school. After all of the things he did to people during school.”

 

“He behaved like a little Death Eater recruit, and you know it, Harry,” Ron added. “You used to hate him.”

 

“I did,” Harry admitted. “Then he rescued me, and I got to know him better—not the child, but the man who I believe has changed a great deal in a very short time.

 

“Please don’t be offended. I’m not saying this to hurt you. But you can’t really understand what I went through. I could tell you every detail, and you wouldn’t really understand. Draco _knows._ He saw me suffering, everyday. He saw what they were doing to me, everyday. He was there.”

 

“If he was there, was he involved as well?” Hermione asked, looking unsure, but Harry had a feeling she’d wanted to ask for a while. It wouldn’t surprise him at all to learn she’d suspected Malfoy might have been involved in his torture. “He was, well, at least having to act like a Death Eater then.”

 

Harry hesitated. His first instinct was to deny it. But a lie of omission was different than a flat-out lie, and he didn’t want to lie when asked a direct question.

 

“Yes, he was involved a few times.”

 

Draco held his breath. He was a little surprised Harry had admitted it after having kept quiet about it for so long, but he wasn’t angry with him for it. It was his life, his story to tell. But what would come of it? What would it mean for himself?

 

“He was one of the ones who _tortured_ you?!?” Ron shouted. “You didn’t tell us that! I’m going to kill that fucking bastard!”

 

“How can you forgive that, Harry?” Hermione asked, clearly shocked. “Isn’t that just more proof of the kind of person he really is? You say you’ve put ‘petty things that happened at school’ behind you, but…can you really put that aside and actually be friends with someone who…who tortured you?”

 

Harry wet his lips. “Let me try to explain,” he said quietly. His friends fell silent.

 

“The only times he ever did it was under direct order. He never did it voluntarily like all the others did—the others were quite happy to join in,” he added bitterly. “Draco only did it when he had no choice.”

 

When Hermione looked like she was going to interrupt, probably to say he did have a choice, Harry held up his hand to stop her.

 

“Let me finish please. You have to remember he was a spy, a spy for us. If he wanted to keep his cover, and not join me chained to that wall for some torture before being executed, he had to follow a direct order. Sometimes spies have to do things, bad things, things they wouldn’t ordinarily do, things they don’t want to do. He never hurt me as bad as the others. He only used the Cruciatus, which is quite enough to be going on with, but I knew even when it was happening he wasn’t using his full power. He never laughed at me, or taunted me, or withheld water. He never did any of the other horrible things the others did to me. He never cut me. He never beat me until I passed out. He never whipped me until I bled. He never used any number of the excruciating spells the others did.”

 

Hermione and Ron were both looking sick and stunned after Harry’s recitation of the things he had endured. He hadn’t shared a lot of the details the first time he’d talked to them about it, but now he did because he needed them to understand that Draco could have done a lot worse to him.

 

Harry let out a shaky breath and forced himself to continue. “By keeping his cover and working to perfect his Apparition Hoop, he was able to eventually save my life. He couldn’t have done that if he was chained up or dead. And I’d be dead now as a result. I wasn’t going to last much longer; by that point, I didn’t want to last much longer. I wanted it over with. I wanted to die. But he voluntarily put himself in great danger and saved my life. I don’t blame him for what he did when he was ordered to torture me. And if I don’t blame him, I don’t think you or anyone else has the right to either.”

 

There was a long silence after Harry finished speaking. Tears were running down Hermione’s face. Harry felt exhausted and sick; it always stirred up terrible memories and emotions when he thought about his time in captivity, much less talked about it in such detail. He really didn’t want other people knowing what had happened to him, but this was Ron and Hermione—they weren’t just anyone.

Harry suddenly realised he was done. He just couldn’t continue this conversation any longer, even with his best friends. He stood up.

 

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t talk about this anymore. I’d rather never talk about it again. I need to be alone. And I’d appreciate it if you kept all this to yourselves. I’m sorry.”

 

With that Harry turned and walked to the door. Draco had beat a hasty retreat into the library the moment he’d seen Harry stand up through the crack between the two doors. He stayed silent and still as he listened to Harry go up the stairs. Then he heard the murmuring voices of Granger and Weasley. After a few minutes, they left the drawing room and headed downstairs to use the Floo to return to the Burrow.

 

Draco leaned back against the wall and sighed. He’d gotten a lot more than he’d bargained for when he set out to listen to their private conversation. He’d been impressed by the way Potter—Harry—had handled the disagreement about his use of Dark magic so adroitly. Somewhere along the line, Harry had become very good at countering arguments and convincing people. He was amazed at the way Harry had defended their friendship—and surprised by his own strong reaction to it. He hadn’t realised how much he’d come to enjoy being with Harry until he understood it could disappear if Harry gave in to his friends and dropped him.

 

But what really stunned him was the way Harry had explained and defended Draco’s use of torture against him. He hadn’t realised Harry really understood he hadn’t wanted to do it. He now thought Harry understood that Draco felt guilty for it. Oh, Harry had implied before that saving his life was the most important thing, but for Harry to have explained in such detail what he’d gone through in order to protect him? It boggled the mind. Draco realised he had a lot to be grateful to Harry for: standing up for him at the Order meeting, giving him shelter, showing him kindness, keeping his friends off Draco’s back, befriending him when Draco didn’t deserve it. And now apparently forgiving him for torturing him. He’d never known anyone like Harry Potter before.  

 

 

********************************************************************************

 

 

Harry didn’t turn up for dinner. When Remus went up to check on him, Harry told him through the door he was fine, he just wasn’t hungry.

 

Harry stared blindly at the ceiling over his head. He’d been staring at it for quite a while. He’d taken off his glasses, and everything was blurry. He liked it that way. He didn’t want to see the world in sharp focus right now.

 

He didn’t understand why he was so emotionally torn up. He’d survived actual torture—why was merely talking about it so painful? How could remembering hurt almost as badly as experiencing?

 

Harry’s breath caught as the memory of the first time he’d almost begged them to kill him flashed into his mind. He’d been in agony. Pain beyond the telling. It had been going on so long—everything blurred together and his life consisted of nothing but endless hours of excruciating pain and hunger and hanging by his wrists, chained to a wall in a cellar. What kind of life was that? Why couldn’t it just be over?

 

He remembered he’d opened his cracked lips to ask, for the first time to ask for them to just end it. And not doing it, because he knew, simply _knew,_ that if he asked, they’d take sadistic pleasure in prolonging his torture.

 

As he lay on his bed, he felt his eyes fill with tears. He hadn’t cried, not once since he’d been freed. He could feel the pressure of the need to uncork the bottle building and finally let the tears come. They started slowly, trickles of wetness running from the corners of his eyes down over his temples, but quickly built to harsh, body-wracking sobs. Memories flashed through his mind over and over as he curled himself into a protective ball, clutching at his pillow. A Silencing Charm protected the room, so he let himself scream, let himself sob as the pain, the despair he’d felt then washed through him all over again.

 

Harry had no idea how long this went on, but he suddenly found himself gasping for air, and panic overtook him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest he thought for sure he was having a heart attack. Violent shudders wracked his body. His fingers scrabbled at the pillow he still held tightly, and he thought he was dying. He tried telling himself he wasn’t, tried telling himself to just _breathe,_ but it wasn’t working very well.

 

When the nausea overtook him, it broke his paralysis. He attempted to roll off the bed to make a run to the loo, but his shaking legs wouldn’t hold him up, and he collapsed to the floor. He vomited up bile; he vomited so hard he thought he was going to choke on it. But when he finally finished, his stomach raw and his throat burning, he realised he was breathing again. Still shaking, he made a conscious effort to control his breathing, slow it down a little, even it out. _‘Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out’_ became a steady chant in his head, and he held on to it, used the simple phrase to calm himself.

 

It seemed to take forever, but he finally managed to breathe mostly normally again, though every now and then his breath would still hitch with a sob. The shaking eased as well. He lifted his arm and took his wand from the bedside table and used it to Vanish the vomit. Then he crawled weakly back into bed.

 

What the hell had just happened? He was too dazed to make any sense of it. Harry just knew he was exhausted and achy and absolutely miserable on every possible level. He released a long, slow, shuddering breath. He was ok. He was alive. He kept telling himself this over and over until he fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

 

 

****************************************************************************************  

 

When Harry finally awoke the next morning, he felt like death warmed over. His entire body ached, and his eyes seemed swollen shut. He kept them closed and tried to escape into sleep again, but sleep just wouldn’t come. He sighed, and with great effort, rolled over onto his back.

 

He stared at the ceiling through puffy eyes that felt filled with sand, and realised he was back to where he’d started the night before. He forced himself to try and sort through what had happened to him. After considerable time—his mind was working rather sluggishly—he came to the conclusion he’d suffered a panic attack. He’d never had one before, but he couldn’t think of anything else to call what he’d experienced.

 

He felt utterly drained. Completely empty of any and all emotion. His body was an empty shell, one that had been cracked and hulled out, leaving behind only weariness and dull resignation. He welcomed the numbness after the pain and grief of the night before. He thought that’s perhaps what he’d being doing when he was crying—grieving. Grieving for a shattered soul that would never be the same. Grieving for the loss of who he had once been but would never be again.

 

Harry lost track of time as he lay there thinking, sorting through dozens of thoughts and, as they began to filter back in, echoes of the emotions those thoughts evoked. He’d been tortured. Badly. They hadn’t just caused him pain. The pain had been bad enough, but they’d also stripped him of hope, and in some ways, that had been worse.

 

But he’d survived it. He could survive the aftermath of it. He _would_ survive it. Lying there, he realised he felt a little better. Perhaps a little less angry. Perhaps a little more at peace. He knew he wasn’t over it and understood now that he probably wouldn’t be for a long time, if ever.

 

But he could go on with his life. He was grateful to have a life to go on with. He needed to remember that. And he needed to remember he shouldn’t let his life revolve completely around Voldemort and the war. He was fighting to live, and he didn’t have to put off living until after the war.

 

Shoving himself into a sitting position, Harry finally put on his glasses. Curious, he cast _Tempus_ and was surprised to see it was after eleven am. How long had he slept? How long had he been lying there thinking?

 

He hauled himself into the bathroom, and one look in the mirror told him he looked as bad as he felt, if not worse. He was pale, his eyes were red and swollen, his hair was standing on end, and he had a red mark on one cheek—he must have scratched himself somehow. To top everything off, it tasted like something had died in his mouth overnight. Sighing, he got into the shower to try and soak away some of the aches.

 

When he got out he felt better and decided he looked better, too. He healed the scratch and brushed his teeth, but his eyes made it obvious he’d been crying. Great. Wishing he knew some eye de-puffing spell, he settled for putting the coldest flannel he could stand over his eyes for a few minutes while his hair dried.

 

Deciding the results were going to have to be good enough as he was starving and had no wish to stay in his room all day just because his eyes were still a little puffy, Harry put his glasses back on and thought they helped camouflage things a little more.  

 

Harry made straight for the kitchen and was glad to see it was empty. Not caring that it was almost noon, he started making bacon, eggs, and toast.

 

He was draining the bacon when Draco walked in. Draco gave him a slow once over.

 

“Rough night?” was all he said.

 

“You could say that,” Harry said wryly.

 

Draco simply nodded and got out some ingredients for a sandwich. He’d gotten pretty good at making them, if he did say so himself.

 

“Can I have some bacon for my sandwich?” he asked.

 

“Sure, help yourself.” Harry sat down at the scarred wooden table and started eating. He knew manners dictated he should wait for Draco, but he was too damn hungry to care about manners, and he didn’t think Draco would care anyway.

 

“What are your plans for the day?” Draco asked as he sat down with his sandwich and crisps.

 

Harry looked at him curiously. “You’re not even going to ask, are you?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Not unless you want me to.”

 

Harry shook his head. “No, I really don’t want to talk about it. So thanks for not asking.”

 

“We may be friends now, Pot—Harry, but your private business is just that—private. I can respect that. I don’t have to know your every little secret.”

 

“Ah, well, good,” Harry said, relieved that for once he wasn’t going to be questioned to death over his emotional state. As much as he loved his other friends, their overprotectiveness could be a bit smothering, and it was nice to have a friend who’d respect his wishes if he said he didn’t want to talk about something. “I’ll try and return the favour.”

 

They ate in silence for a while before Draco repeated his earlier question as to what Harry was going to do that day.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to train; I need a day off. I don’t want to read. I want to go outside.” He smiled. “You know what I really want to do? I want to play Quidditch.”

 

“Unless you have a Quidditch pitch shrunk up and hidden in a trunk somewhere, I don’t think that’s going to be possible here.”

 

“No, but Hogwarts has a pitch.”

 

A gleam appeared in Draco’s eyes. “Do you think we’d be allowed?”

 

“Can’t hurt to ask,” Harry said, wiping his mouth. “I’m going to do it now.”

 

He Flooed Dumbledore. Draco couldn’t hear what he said, but he decided that Potter’s skills at convincing people really came in handy when Harry pulled back his head and grinned at him.

 

“We’re on!”

 

********************************************************************************

 

 

Harry hadn’t felt so free in ages. He’d had no idea playing just Seeker to Seeker could be so much fun. He and Draco had soared all around the pitch, trying to outdo each other performing stunts almost as much as they searched for the Snitch. He’d won three times out of five, but it didn’t even really matter. He’d just had fun playing, getting out of that damn house, and doing something that resembled normal.

 

He was currently lazily looping around the pitch, not doing much of anything except flying, which was just fine with him. Draco swooped up next to him, back from securing the Golden Snitch in its box.

 

“This was a really good idea,” Draco said, after a few minutes of just flying around with Harry.

 

“Yeah. Maybe we can do again another time.” Harry flipped his broom around so he was facing the opposite direction from Draco as they hovered together in the air. “I really had a lot of fun.”

 

“Of course you did. You beat me,” Draco said, smiling wryly.

 

“Well, yeah, that was pretty good, but really I had fun just playing.” He looked at Draco and smiled. “Playing with you.”

 

Without warning, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco’s broom, dragging them closer together.

 

“Come here,” he said, and putting his gloved hand behind Draco’s head, kissed him. Draco’s lips were cold, but parted immediately for him. He stroked his tongue along Draco’s and savoured that quick little drum of pleasure that beat in his blood. It stirred feelings inside him he didn’t really understand, but he ignored them in favour of savouring the warmth of Draco’s mouth, the pleasurable heat the kiss was sending surging through his blood.

 

Draco sank into the kiss, allowing himself to do so just for a minute. He wanted this. His body longed for the excitement, the pleasure Harry’s mouth was promising him. But after only a minute, he reluctantly pulled away.

 

“We can’t. You know this.”

 

“You mean we _shouldn’t_.” Running his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting just that little bit more of Draco, Harry stared off into the sky for a few moments before returning his gaze to Draco.

 

“I realised today that I’m glad to still be alive. I want to stay that way. But I also know we lead rather dangerous lives. There’s no guarantee I won’t die. There’s no guarantee any of us won’t die.

 

“I say fuck the world. I feel like we should take what we want while we can.” Harry’s piercing green gaze held Draco motionless. “And what I want right now is you.”

 

Draco swallowed, hard. A part of him agreed with everything Harry was saying, and he wanted to take what that part of him wanted, too—which at this moment was Harry Potter. But the other, well-trained cautious side of him held him back.

 

“I don’t understand why,” he said slowly, “but I want you too. But I have to think about this. We’d be taking a monumental risk, which you well know. Your friends—they might never forgive you. The Order would be…appalled is the mildest word I can think of for it. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you’re a leader in the Order, in this war, and your reputation does matter. No one, not one person, would approve.

 

“It’s easy to say ‘fuck the world,’ but it may not be easy for either of us to live with the consequences. You’re a bit reckless by nature, Harry, but I’m not. I have to think about this. And I think you should, too.”

 

Harry studied Draco carefully for a minute. He smiled a little. “You really want me?”

 

Draco huffed out a laugh. “Out of everything I said, is that all you heard?”

 

Harry grinned cheekily. “No, but I did find it to be a very important piece of information.” He sobered. “I understand your concerns, and I know you’re right. I know you are. Maybe it’s just that recklessness in me, but right now I really don’t care. I know I should, but I just don’t. Maybe I will later if we aren’t able to keep it secret and people find out. Who knows? I just know that right now, I want you in my bed. I want to touch you. I want to taste you. I just fucking want you.”

 

Draco swallowed again as heat prickled along his skin at the raw desire he heard in Harry’s voice and saw in his eyes. Gods, he was so tempted to just take what Harry was offering. It was just sex, wasn’t it? People had sex all the time. But he and Harry weren’t just any people.

 

He didn’t realise he’d closed his eyes until he heard Harry speak again and opened them to see his serious, earnest expression.

 

“I want you, but I also respect your need to think it over. I want to make it very clear to you that I’d never pressure you into doing something you really don’t want to do or feel you can’t do. If you decide friendship is all we can have, then I’ll respect that.”

 

“I know you will.” Draco sighed and looked around at the lowering sun. He couldn’t make a decision now. “We should probably be getting back before I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and let you kiss me again.”

 

Harry groaned. “Don’t say things like that, you’re killing me.”

 

Draco grinned unrepentantly, glad that the tension that had taken up residence in the air with them had dissipated. “Let’s go.”

 

They flew down to the ground together, packed up, and headed home.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

The next day was a group-training day. Ron and Hermione seemed a little unsure of how to act around Harry, but he tried just to treat them as he normally would and hoped the awkwardness would pass. He didn’t know if they were really letting the “you’re friends with Malfoy” issue drop or if they were just letting it lie for the time being; he was just glad it wasn’t mentioned.

 

Harry was also glad that Draco and Ron completely ignored one another. It made for a nice, smooth session. He’d been a little afraid of how he’d react to training again after his little nervous breakdown the other day. But he’d handled everything fine. Perhaps better than he’d handled it before. Maybe having a panic attack had a silver lining.

 

He spent some time hanging out with Remus and Draco in the afternoon, just talking about inconsequential things, like the latest Quidditch scores and random gossip from the _Daily Prophet_. It was relaxing. He valued relaxing these days. And it was living. He valued living.

 

Draco went up to get ready for bed and left Harry with Remus.

 

“I’ve been torn between asking and not wanting to pry,” Remus said when they were alone. “I’ve been worried about you. But you seem better today. Are you?”

 

Harry smiled a little. “Yeah, I am. I think I just needed to sort some things through, work some things out. When Ron and Hermione were here the other day, some things got brought up that dredged up some rather unpleasant memories, and I needed time to deal with that. Yesterday helped, too. Playing Quidditch always makes me feel better.”

 

“You’re like your father in that sense—there was nothing he liked better than playing Quidditch.”

 

Harry’s smile widened. “Even though I never knew him, it’s nice to know we have something in common.”

 

“You have a great deal in common, just as you do with your mother,” Remus said, studying Harry fondly. “You’re kind and honest and stubborn like your mother. You’re impatient and brave and determined like your father. And you’re strong like both of them. Perhaps stronger. Perhaps you’ve had to be.”

 

“Maybe I have,” Harry said after a few moments. “I don’t know. But I know I’m not going to disappoint them.”

 

“You never could.”

 

“I hope not,” Harry said, thinking about Draco. He could only imagine what his parents might think of him having some kind of an affair with someone marked as a Death Eater and bearing the name Malfoy. “I really hope not.”

 

Harry headed upstairs and caught Draco coming out of the bathroom again. At least this time he was wearing navy pyjama bottoms and a matching dressing gown. The sight of Draco in those low-riding pyjamas with his chest exposed had Harry’s fingers itching to touch.

 

They walked down the corridor together, and Harry stopped at his doorway.

 

He tilted his head towards his bedroom and lifted a brow. “Interested?”

 

Draco smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then he said more seriously, “I’m still thinking.”

 

Harry hid his disappointment. He smiled and nodded. “Think away. Have a good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

 

****************************************************************

 

 

Draco went in his room and shut the door behind him. He was very interested and very tempted, but he _was_ still thinking. He couldn’t seem to come to a decision. Every time his rational side would firmly decide that nothing could happen between them, another side of himself he really didn’t know very well would pop in and remind him of how much he wanted his hands on Harry’s body and Harry’s mouth on his.

 

He flopped down on the bed and tried to think. There was more holding Draco back than the reasons he’d given Harry on the Quidditch pitch. This new side to him was unfamiliar and a little disconcerting. Since when did he think with his emotions? Or his hormones for that matter? But he was. He wanted Harry physically; that part he could understand. But he thought he wanted more than that, and that made Draco very nervous. He could rationalise wanting someone in a sexual sense. But knowing that Harry was touching something deeper inside him than just his libido was disturbing. He could not develop _feelings_ for Harry Potter. Even if he gave in and became his lover, he could never allow it to be more than sexual release and perhaps a bit of fun. Feelings were messy, and from what he saw and heard from other people, frequently painful. He didn’t need that. Harry didn’t need that from him. Harry wasn’t interested in anything beyond a physical relationship any more than Draco was. So he needed to shut that new side of himself up and listen to everything his brain, not his emotions, was telling him to do: stay away from Harry Potter.

 

He sighed deeply. The problem was, Draco didn’t know if he could. But could he really say “fuck the world” like Harry and live with the consequences? The consequences should anyone find out about them would likely be worse for him than Harry. Though they’d be pretty bad for Harry. He could lose everything again though. Lose shelter, lose relative safety, lose self-respect. Lose Harry. The thought of that bothered Draco most of all, and the fact that it did bothered him even more.

 

He kept thinking about what Harry had said about possibly dying and taking what they could while they could. He agreed with that; he was selfish by nature, and that was a rather selfish attitude. And there was that part of him that _wanted_ to be reckless, wanted to do exactly what Harry said and fuck it all. Perhaps they could actually keep it a secret. They’d have to be very, very circumspect, but maybe they could do it. The biggest obstacle would be Lupin, as he lived in the same house with them, but the most dangerous obstacle would be Weasley. Could he actually take the risk?

 

Draco couldn’t come to a decision and crawled under the blankets, hoping an answer he could live with came to him in his sleep.

 

 

**************************************************************************************

 

They trained as a group again the next afternoon, which went as well as it ever did, but Ron cornered Harry afterwards. Hermione had disappeared with Ginny and the others back to the Burrow, so Harry wondered what was going on.

 

“Please tell me you’ve gotten over this insanity about being friends with Malfoy,” Ron said.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not insanity, and no, I haven’t. You’re just going to have to get used to it. Have you even noticed a difference when you’ve been here the past two days? Am I treating him any differently than I was before you knew I considered him a friend?”

 

“Not really. But it did seem to me like you were being a lot nicer than Dumbledore probably expected you to be for a while now.”

 

“We’ve been over this before, Ron,” Harry said, exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, Dumbledore asked me to be nice. Yes, I was, of my own free will. We’re stuck in this same damn house together—of course we’d talk now and again. People do, you know.”

 

“Malfoy and I never would,” Ron asserted.

 

“No, probably not,” Harry agreed. “I guess it’s just different for me because of circumstances. Getting to be friends with him slowly happened over time. I’m sorry it makes you angry, or however it is you’re feeling.”

 

“Yeah, I’m a bit angry. Mostly I’m confused. The Harry who’s been my best mate for the past seven years wouldn’t be hanging around with Draco Malfoy. Are you still him?”

 

“Of course I am. Have I changed some? Yes, as I told you the other day, my experiences changed me. But I’ve also changed just by getting older, and you have, too. We’re adults now. You’ll be eighteen soon, and Hermione already is. We’ve grown up, and when people grow up, they change. They have to. We’ve got to deal with the additional burden of becoming adults during a war as well. None of us are the same people we were when we were children—not even who we were last year.”

 

“I guess you’re right,” Ron said. “Sometimes I think the stress of the war is getting to me. Maybe I’m just getting grouchy in my old age,” he added with a laugh. Harry laughed with him.

 

“We’ve been butting heads a lot, Harry, and I don’t like it. It’s almost always because of Malfoy. I can’t stand him, you’re friends with him, and I don’t understand it. I know you’ve explained it, but I still have a hard time accepting it. But I’m going to try. I don’t want him coming between us any more.”

 

Harry sighed in relief. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that. I haven’t liked the way things have been between us lately either. It’s really been bothering me. When it comes to the issue of Malfoy, we both seem to lose our tempers really quickly, although I’ve really tried not to. I understand you can’t stand him. I don’t expect you to like him. As far as I’m concerned, the two of you can stay as far apart from one another as you want.” He grinned. “It’s probably safer for everyone that you do.”

 

Ron grinned back at him.

 

“The only thing I really want is that when you do have to be in the same vicinity, I wish things could just remain civil. You’ve been ignoring each other mostly lately, and I am fine with that. More than fine.”

 

“I’m going to try my best, Harry. Ignoring him does seem to work best, so that’s my plan for handling all this.”

 

“Works for me. I’ll do my best to encourage Draco to just keep on ignoring you as well.”

 

“And that works for me.” Ron smiled. “So, as you like to say, are we good now?”

 

Harry smiled back. “We are, yes. Thank you, Ron. I know it’s hard on you, being around Malfoy, and I appreciate you’re willing to try. I know you’re doing it for me, and I’m grateful.”

 

“I reckon you’re worth it,” Ron said with a wink. “I’d hate trying to find a new best mate who could keep things as lively as you do.”

 

Harry laughed. “Knock on wood, things haven’t been too lively lately, which is a blessing. So, anyway, want to hang around? Stay here and have dinner?”

 

“With Malfoy?” Ron asked sceptically. “I’m not sure even my appetite can stand that again.”

 

“No, we can go up, eat in my room. Just hang out, play a game of chess or something.”

 

“Sure, that sounds good. Let me just Floo Mum and let her know I’m staying.”

 

They headed to the kitchen, Harry feeling much lighter than he had around his friend in a long time. And he was happy.

 

 

************************************************************************************

 

 

Harry had a good time spending some one-on-one time with his best friend. It was something they hadn’t done in far too long—since school had ended, really. He was in a very good mood. With the exception of the panic attack, the past few days had been good. He’d had fun playing Quidditch with Draco, and now he’d had a good day with Ron. Hoping his good luck might hold, he left his bedroom door open that night in the hope that Draco might stop by. Even if nothing could change between them, he’d still like to see him.

 

It seemed his luck was still in because Draco showed up in his doorway, wearing nothing but his silky pyjama bottoms. These were Slytherin green and rode low on his hips. They looked damn good on him.

 

Draco stood and looked at him for a moment. Harry waited for whatever he was going to say, half-hoping, half-dreading, that Draco had come to a decision.

 

He saw Draco take a deep breath. Then Draco looked him right in the eye.

 

“Interested?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

Both Harry’s spirit and his libido soared and he wanted nothing more than to pounce. But he made himself ask, “Are you sure?”

 

Draco smiled a little more as he stepped into the room and closed the door with a quiet click behind him. “I think so.” He took another deep breath. “Fuck the world.”

 

Harry grinned, delighted. “I’d rather you fucked me, but we’ll start with that.” He lifted his wand and warded the door.

 

Harry got up off his bed and walked to Draco. He feathered his fingers across the soft skin of Draco’s shoulder and heard Draco inhale sharply.

 

“Can I ask what made you decide to fuck the world?”

 

“I want you,” Draco said bluntly, his eyes reflecting that wanting. “My life has been about control: my father’s control, my control over myself, the Dark Lord’s control. I want to know what it’s like to lose control.” He smiled and Harry thought it was the most seductive thing he’d seen in a long time. “I’m pretty sure you can help me with that.”

 

“It will certainly be my pleasure.” Eager, but wanting to play a little, Harry leaned in and ghosted his lips along Draco’s jaw before trailing them lightly down his neck. Draco shuddered.

 

“What do you want to do? Unless you were lying before, you’ve never been with a man. Whatever you want to do or don’t want to do is fine with me. I’m still rather new to this myself. We can take it as slow as you want.”

 

“I wasn’t lying,” Draco said, tilting his neck and sighing in pleasure. “I don’t know enough about this to know exactly what I want.”

 

“Sure you do,” Harry whispered, sliding his lips back up to the strong line of Draco’s jaw. “Tell me what you want right now.”

 

“I want your hands on me. I want your mouth on me.”

 

Harry’s mouth was on Draco’s in a flash, kissing him hard and deep. His hands ran up Draco’s back and back down to grasp his hips.

 

Going from slow seduction to blistering heat made Draco’s head spin, and he grabbed Harry’s shoulders for balance, pulling him closer. Their tongues tangled, and Draco moaned. Harry changed angles and took the kiss even deeper, holding Draco’s head still with a hand to the back of his head. Draco lost himself in the heat, the promise of what would come. He slid his hands down Harry’s still-clothed chest, wishing he could feel flesh. He let his hands drop to Harry’s hips before gathering the courage to slide his hands around to his arse. When he squeezed, Harry groaned and tore his mouth away.

 

He impatiently stripped off his shirt and flung it on the floor before grabbing Draco and kissing him again. Draco’s hands were back on his arse and felt really damn good. He pulled their hips together and a surge of pure lust went through him at the feel of Draco’s erection against his.

 

“Bed. Now,” he managed to say, kissing the length of Draco’s neck. He dragged Draco to the bed, not that Draco resisted in any way. They scooted back until they could both recline and then Harry pressed Draco down beneath him. They snogged while Harry used his fingertips to worry Draco’s nipple into a hard pebble.

 

“Merlin,” Draco gasped, “that feels…”

 

Harry didn’t need Draco to finish his sentence. He slid down Draco’s body and took the nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before biting it gently between his teeth.

 

Draco moaned and arched his back, clutching at Harry’s hair. Harry grinned and switched his attention to the other nipple, much to Draco’s great pleasure.

 

Draco’s breath caught as Harry’s hand reached down and squeezed him through his pyjamas. Harry continued to massage him with one hand while teasing his nipple with the other.

 

“Do you like this?” Harry whispered, his breath wafting warmly over Draco’s mouth as he took his hand from Draco’s chest to brace himself over Draco.

 

“I like it so much I’m going to come way too soon if you keep it up,” Draco gasped.

 

“Well, let’s definitely keep it up,” Harry said, leering a little. “But we can switch things up.”

 

He kissed Draco long and hard again. Gods, he could kiss him for hours and not ever have enough. He felt Draco’s hands slide down his chest and begin to pull at the button of his jeans. Harry lifted himself up a little to give Draco more room to work but never let up his assault on Draco’s mouth.

 

Draco’s normally sure hands fumbled a little, but he finally had Harry’s denims undone, and he shoved them down Harry’s hips, letting his erection spring free. Harry made a little sound of relief as he rolled onto his back to yank the jeans the rest of the way off. Draco got his loose drawstring pyjamas off faster and distracted Harry by snogging him senseless, making it take Harry longer than it normally would to take off a pair of trousers. He finally jerked them free and pulled Draco down firmly against him.

 

They snogged for a while longer, frotting against one another as they did. Hard flesh slid against hard flesh, sending rockets of heat spiralling through them both. Harry abruptly flipped Draco onto his back and before Draco knew it, Harry’s mouth had dropped down on his cock. Draco bucked up at the feeling of hot, wet tongue. Harry almost choked but kept working Draco with his mouth while holding his hips down with one hand.

 

Draco moaned and muttered incoherently, urging Harry on. He didn’t even know what he was saying, and he didn’t care. Harry’s mouth was pulling his orgasm closer and closer with every long, hard suck and every motion of his fist and every swipe of his tongue and all Draco cared about was that he didn’t stop.

 

He cried out as he finally came, hard and hot in Harry’s mouth. Harry’s mouth milked him as he rode the wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure.

 

He came back to reality as Harry was kissing his way back up his chest. Then his mouth was on Draco’s, and Draco was kissing him back passionately. It was wet and messy and wonderfully perfect.

 

“Holy fucking shit, Draco,” Harry muttered against his mouth. “It is really fucking hot watching you get off.”

 

Draco thought the hottest part had been Harry’s mouth getting him off but didn’t say so. Instead he worked up his nerve and took Harry’s cock in his hand, feeling the heat as it jerked. “I want to get you off.”

 

He pushed Harry off of him, and before he could lose his nerve, moved down Harry’s chest with his mouth.

 

“Draco, you don’t have to—”

 

“I want to,” Draco cut him off. And he did. He wanted to know what it was like to have a man’s cock in his mouth.

 

Holding Harry’s erection with one hand, he slid his mouth over the bulbous head and used his tongue. There was pre-come to lick and the taste had Draco humming. Harry moaned above him, encouraging him. He took as much of Harry into his mouth as he could and used his tongue and suction to wring some very satisfying noises out of Harry. As he worked Harry, Draco decided he liked the feel of Harry’s dick in his mouth, hot and heavy against his tongue. He liked feeling the ridges and the pulse as it beat under his tongue. He felt Harry’s breath become harsher and then Harry’s hand tangled in his hair.

 

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna…”

 

Draco didn’t let up; he wanted Harry to come in his mouth. He wanted to know what it was like. He gagged a little when Harry did come, jerking his hips and filling his mouth. He quickly backed off but swallowed gamely. Determined to give Harry as much pleasure as Harry had given him, he went back to working Harry with his mouth, although he didn’t take him very deep.

 

Harry’s body suddenly lost all of its tension, and he sagged into the mattress. Holy shit, that had been good. Really, really fucking good. He felt Draco lean over him and pulled him down into a kiss, never opening his eyes. He could really get used to this, he thought as they snogged lazily.

 

Eventually their lips parted, and Draco flopped onto his back next to Harry. After a few moments, Harry pulled himself up on one elbow and looked down at Draco. He was quite pleased to see the look of sleepy satisfaction on his new lover’s face.

 

He grinned slowly. “In case you were wondering, you’re a natural. That was fucking amazing.”

 

Draco gave him a little smirk. “A natural, eh?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said in a low purr as he ran his hand lazily over Draco’s chest. “I can’t wait to see what other talents you’re hiding.”

 

“I’m looking forward to showing you,” Draco replied, with a wicked smile. “You were pretty amazing yourself.”

 

Harry grinned again. “Of course. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

 

“I can certainly agree with that,” Draco said, stretching lazily. He ran his hand through the hair on Harry’s chest. “I like this.”

 

“Do you?” Harry looked down at himself. “It’s not like there’s a lot of it.”

 

“I think that’s why I like it. There’s just enough. It feels good.”

 

Harry was a little surprised by Draco’s openness and the fact that there was no awkwardness between them at all. Draco was usually so self-contained and careful; it was nice to see him a little looser.

 

“It feels good when you do that,” he admitted. He leaned in and kissed Draco again, keeping it soft. “Will you stay?” he whispered against his lips. He was almost afraid to ask, but for some reason he really didn’t like the idea of Draco leaving his bed.

 

“I shouldn’t,” Draco said, pulling back a little. Pulling in a little, Harry noted, and was sorry for it.

 

“I don’t mean to push,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m just worried about Lupin,” Draco said, although he was also worried about those feelings that were stirring inside him again. Nothing good could come of them, and he really should return to his own bed.

 

“I guess you’re right,” Harry said reluctantly. “I wouldn’t want to get caught out our first time together. Well, I guess it’s really our second, but you know what I mean.”

 

“I do.” Draco sat up, reluctant as well. He was a little disappointed Harry wasn’t pushing at him to stay and told himself firmly he shouldn’t be.

 

He reached for his pyjama bottoms, which were lying crumpled at the end of the bed. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him as he stood to pull them on after performing a quick cleaning charm on himself.

 

“You have a very fine arse, Draco Malfoy.”

 

Glancing back over his shoulder, Draco smiled knowingly at Harry through lowered lashes. “Everything about me is fine.”

 

“True enough,” Harry agreed, sliding out of bed and pulling Draco into his arms. He kissed him, long and deep, making Draco wish even more he could stay.

 

“I already want you again,” Harry said. “You’d better go while you still can.”

 

Draco laughed. “Control yourself, Potter. There’s always tomorrow.”

 

“Hallelujah,” Harry said with feeling, making Draco laugh again.

 

Draco weakened enough to kiss Harry one more time. “Good night.”

 

“Good night, Draco.”

 

Harry watched Draco lift the wards and look cautiously into the hall. After a final look back over his shoulder, he was gone.

 

Harry sank back down on his bed and sighed. Oh, he was in trouble. He could very easily become addicted to Draco Malfoy. Very easily indeed.

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

It was a little strange at breakfast next morning. Harry had the urge to kiss Draco the moment he walked into the kitchen and saw him making breakfast. He thought it odd—he understood wanting Draco sexually. But wanting to kiss him just for the hell of it? The way someone would do if they were in a relationship? They weren’t in a relationship, not even close. They were just having fun.

 

Instead of kissing him, Harry wished Draco good morning. Behind Remus’ back, Draco gave him a saucy grin. Harry shot him a mock dirty look in return.

 

Breakfast was fine, and Remus seemed to suspect nothing. Harry thought they did a fine job of acting just as they normally did. Perhaps they would be able to keep this…affair…between them quiet.

 

He and Draco trained together for a while. Remus came in to watch them as he sometimes did, which made it a lot easier for Harry to concentrate—it was a distraction from thinking about Draco. Remus never questioned when Harry would use a Dark spell—or when Draco would. Harry knew Remus accepted and understood why they were using them.

 

“I’m impressed,” Remus commented when they stopped to take a break and heal some minor injuries. “I’ve noticed it in within the group, but I think you still tend to hold back then, Harry, which I understand. But your increased power is notable even more so when it’s just you and Draco.” He smiled a little. “You’re not so bad yourself, Draco. You have to be fairly powerful just to hold your own against Harry these days, and you certainly can.”     

 

“Oh, Potter’s just lucky I’m taking it easy on him,” Draco joked, smirking a little.

 

Harry snorted. “As if.”

 

Remus grinned at their banter. He wouldn’t have believed it a few months ago, but he liked how these two young men worked and interacted together. They complemented each other. It had been entertaining to see them slowly work out how to get along with each other, but they seemed to have managed it, as they were obviously friends. Remus knew it was causing friction between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but he was proud of Harry for not backing down and abandoning Draco. Not that Harry ever would. It just wasn’t in his nature. And as he’d said before, Harry was a very stubborn young man.

 

“While I hope rather strongly there will never be another battle, I’m well satisfied both of you can handle yourselves. Good work. I’ll leave you now to get back to it.”

 

Harry swallowed some water as he watched Remus go.

 

“I’m glad we’ve got his seal of approval,” he commented.

 

Draco didn’t respond to that, although he was reluctantly pleased by Lupin’s praise. Instead he said, “Lupin mentioned battle. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about it, but I’ve been meaning to ask how the second battle went for you. Were you able to handle it better?”

 

Harry resigned himself to an unpleasant conversation. “I was. I didn’t freak out or fall apart. There were moments—several of them, to be perfectly honest—but I tried to do what you are always yelling at me about and focus on the present.” He smiled a little.

 

“Glad to know something I’ve said has gotten through your thick skull,” Draco shot back, also smiling. Then his smile fell away. “It sounds like you handled the battle better than I did.”

 

“I also hadn’t just been forced to kill my father in self-defence,” Harry said quietly. “I think you’ve handled yourself admirably.”

 

Draco studied Harry’s face for a long moment, his grey eyes intense. “Do you really?” he finally asked, giving in to the surprising need for Harry’s reassurance.

 

“I do. I don’t think I would be handling it nearly as well if our situations were reversed. You’re a very strong person, Draco. Remus told me recently that he thought I was strong, that I’ve _had_ to be strong. I think the same is true for you.”

 

Draco would never admit it, but he thought Harry Potter was the strongest person he’d ever met. To have gone through everything he had, to have his responsibilities and still be able to smile, to laugh, to lead a relatively normal life? That was strength.

 

“I suppose,” he replied noncommittally.

 

“You are strong,” Harry insisted, walking toward him. With a glance at the doorway, he ran his hand down Draco’s chest to his belt. “You’re also very fit,” he whispered. “I don’t think I can wait until tonight.”

 

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Draco said, stepping back and shooting a nervous glance toward the door. “I think there needs to be some rules for this…game of ours, Potter.”

 

Harry waved his wand—the door closed and a privacy spell was erected in one fell swoop.

 

“You’re right,” he said apologetically. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. You’re taking a big risk, and I’m not respecting that.”

 

“ _We’re_ taking a big risk,” Draco corrected him. “You’ll have a lot of shit raining down on your head if this gets out.”

 

“True,” Harry said, shrugging. He didn’t seem that concerned, which bothered Draco. It seemed Harry Potter really had decided to make his attitude a “fuck the world” one.

 

“If we can’t be supremely careful, we can’t do this,” Draco said. “Even if you’re willing to take the risk of being reckless about all this, I’m not. As much as I want you, I won’t take that risk.”

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I know. I do know. And I really am sorry. It won’t happen again. Other than my little slip-up just now, I think we’ve been doing really well today.”

 

“I think so too,” Draco said cautiously. “Can you honestly behave yourself?”

 

“I can and I will,” Harry promised.

 

“All right then.” Draco smiled a little. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

Draco used his wand to end the privacy charm and walked to the door. “I’m going to take a shower. See you later.”

 

Harry had to bite his tongue not to suggest they shower together. He’d never showered with a man before and thought it could be very fun. But he’d just promised to behave, and he’d keep that promise. He knew Draco would break it off if he didn’t. The man was much more nervous about people finding out than Harry was.

 

Harry supposed he should be more concerned. Draco was absolutely right about the shitstorm that would happen if they were caught. Ron was willing to try and be civil around Draco for Harry’s sake but to find out they were a lot more than just friends? Harry didn’t want to imagine the explosion. He resolved to keep his promise to Draco. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself during the day.

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

Things went along quite smoothly for the next week or so. Draco would come to Harry’s bed, and they’d spend a couple of hours enjoying each other. Draco loved having his hands on Harry, having Harry’s hands on him. They’d even progressed to Draco letting Harry put two fingers up his arse. It had felt a little strange and sort of embarrassing at first, but the pleasure of it won him over—especially when Harry would crook his fingers and rub them against his prostate. The sensations that caused were incredible.

 

Draco’d had his own fingers buried knuckle-deep in Harry’s arse several times, and he knew Harry wanted more. But he never said a word; he never pushed. He let Draco set the pace, and Draco was grateful. Having sex with a man was fantastic, but he was fine with taking it slow at first. Though he thought he was ready to speed things up a little.

 

When he went to Harry’s room the following night, and his gaze fell upon that firm chest, and he saw those strong hands that were about to bring him so much pleasure, he decided he _was_ ready. He had no idea how to really go about it, but he wanted Harry in every way possible.

 

Harry seemed to be in a particularly ravenous mood that night and pounced on Draco the moment the privacy wards were erected. Draco moaned as Harry’s hands began to knead his arse and his mouth devoured his. He was usually equally as demanding as Harry, but tonight he was fine with letting Harry have a bit more of the control.

 

Harry sucked at the tendon at the base of Draco’s neck and felt Draco’s moan. Draco had one hand in his hair and the other on his arse, and Harry was even more turned on than usual. Which was saying something. There was something about the way Draco was responding that was a little bit different…

 

He yanked Draco’s pyjama bottoms off and then his own. Kissing Draco again, he pulled him towards the bed. “Come to bed with me,” he murmured against Draco’s lips. “I want you.”

 

Now that the time had come, Draco felt a little nervous. “I want you too,” he managed. He separated his lips from Harry’s and met his gaze. “I want to have sex tonight.”

 

Harry’s breath caught. He was elated but wanted to make sure he understood what Draco was saying. “We’ve been having sex.”

 

“You know what I mean. I want to have…real sex with you.”

 

Harry smiled slowly, seductively, even as his heart beat a little faster in wonderful anticipation. “You want to fuck me?”

 

“If that’s what you want.”

 

Harry ran a hand over Draco’s cheek, not aware of how tender the gesture was. “It’s whatever you want tonight. Either way is fine with me—I’ve tried them both, and I like them both.”

 

“What did…what did you do your first time?”

 

“I topped,” he said, smiling. “And it was bloody amazing.”

 

“Then I guess I’ll…top, if it’s all right with you,” Draco said hesitantly. He knew the terms, but he wasn’t quite comfortable with them yet.

 

Harry swept his tongue through Draco’s mouth in a long, tantalising kiss that promised so much more before saying, “It’s more than all right with me. Bottoming is bloody amazing, too. Come to bed now.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco said, letting Harry lead him to his bed. “I mean, I know in theory, but what to actually do…I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I don’t want you to hurt me either,” Harry said dryly, making Draco laugh. “Sex is meant to be pleasurable, not painful. I’ll show you what to do. It will be pleasurable for both of us. You’ll see.”

 

He pulled Draco down on the bed and rolled on top of him. “Enough talking, more doing,” he said and crushed his mouth down on Draco’s.

 

Harry could feel Draco’s nerves and decided to kiss them into submission. He drove his tongue into Draco’s mouth, exploring every curve, every edge, every little bit of it. He pressed his body down on Draco’s, letting him feel the weight of him. Letting himself enjoy the feel of the man under him. He felt Draco relax and took the kiss even deeper. Draco moaned and Harry felt it vibrate through his body. It got him even hotter, if that was possible.

 

He ran his hands down Draco’s body, using his thumbs to rub at the nipples he’d discovered were incredibly sensitive. Draco moved restlessly against him and tore his mouth free to get some much-needed air.

 

“Oh, gods,” he groaned as Harry kissed his way down his neck. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.” When Harry’s mouth closed around his nipple, he moaned even louder. He didn’t care how loud he was, and it seemed to turn Harry on when he was loud anyway. “Yes, yes, just like that. Merlin, what you do to me, Potter.”

 

He felt Harry grin against his chest and bucked his hips upward, rubbing himself against Harry. “I want to be in you.”

 

This time it was Harry who moaned. He rolled over, pulling Draco on top of him.

 

“I need to teach you a spell,” he said breathlessly. “It’s for internal cleansing, if you take my meaning.”

 

Draco smirked. “I do. What is this spell, and where on earth did you learn it?”

 

Harry grinned. “Restricted Section. There’s a small section on sexual magic.”

 

“Really?” Draco drawled. “Perhaps we need to be taking a trip to the Hogwarts library soon.”

 

“I don’t need a book to tell you how to fuck me, which is what is going to happen right now.”

 

He taught Draco the spell, and Draco used it. It felt exactly as it had when Harry had tried it on himself a couple of times.

 

“Now, lube your fingers. Use a lot. You’re going to stretch me.”

 

Draco used the spell for lube every boy at Hogwarts learned from one of his older housemates. He lubed his fingers and slowly slid one inside Harry. He moved it in and out a couple of times before adding a second finger. Harry groaned and pushed against him. “Damn, that feels good. Scissor them a little. You need to stretch me. Your dick’s a lot bigger than two fingers.”

 

Draco was very aware of this and wasn’t sure how all the stretching in the world was going to let him fit inside Harry, but he trusted Harry with this. He scissored his fingers and felt Harry begin to loosen a little.

 

“Add another,” Harry panted, avidly watching Draco’s hand as it worked inside him.

 

Draco added more lube and squeezed in a third finger. It was an awkward fit at first, but he did his best to spread his fingers as he moved them in and out. As Harry loosened, he thrust them in deeper and moved them a little faster.

 

Now Harry was really moaning. “Oh, God, you have no idea…no idea how good that feels.” His hand wandered down from where it had been clutched in his own hair, and he stroked himself a few times. “I’m ready. I’m more than ready. Fuck me now, please.”

 

Draco licked his lips and withdrew his fingers, which caused Harry to express his disappointment. He slathered a lot of lube on his cock—Harry had said to use a lot, and Draco figured the slippery the better.

 

He lined himself up and braced himself over Harry.

 

“Go slow,” Harry said, breathing a bit heavily. “It’s been a while, and I haven’t actually done this that many times.”

 

Draco nodded and pushed against Harry’s entrance. He had to push a little hard, but the head of his cock finally slid in. Their moans melded together.

 

Draco had never felt anything like it as he continued to slide father into Harry. The tightness, the heat, the pressure. Harry’s body squeezed around him, and Draco had to grit his teeth to keep from coming. It was so different than sex with a girl. It was…incredible.

 

He worked his way slowly inside, watching Harry’s face as he did. His lover’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was ragged, but if the expression on his face was to be trusted, he wasn’t feeling any pain.

 

Harry felt Draco slide inside the last couple of inches and arched his back a little. He felt full, very, very full, but it felt fantastic. Draco’s cock was thicker than the Muggle bloke’s had been, and Harry had wondered if he’d be able to tell a difference. He could—the wider stretch was very, very good. God, he’d missed this. Having Draco inside him was amazing. Knowing it was Draco and not just any man somehow made it even more amazing. He could feel the tension in Draco’s body and knew he was waiting for a sign from Harry.

 

Harry opened his eyes and stared into Draco’s bright grey ones. He saw pleasure and need. He imagined Draco saw the same in his own eyes.

 

“Move,” he said, panting a little. “I need you to move.”

 

Draco’s eyes dilated a bit, and he nodded. He slowly withdrew a little and pushed back in.

 

“More,” Harry demanded.

 

Draco felt like he was going to lose control at any moment and ordered himself not to come yet. He started thrusting in and out of Harry’s tight passageway, building up speed little by little, spurred on by Harry’s moans and cries of pleasure.

 

Harry stroked himself harder and faster. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate. It had been too long, and Draco’s cock stretching him, filling him, felt too damn good. Draco was breathing hard above him. His eyes were closed, but Harry knew he was feeling much the same way he was: hot and bothered and ready to explode.

 

“Harder,” Harry urged. He yanked Draco’s face down and kissed him passionately. He didn’t have to breath to kiss him long, though. “Harder,” he demanded again.

 

Draco tried pulling almost all the way out and then thrust back in harder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was a little astounded by the fact that he was fucking Harry Potter. And it was fucking brilliant. Harry’s body was so tight around his cock it was almost painful, but each time he pushed himself back into Harry’s body it was a little more amazing. Draco’s eyes were squeezed closed, and his breath was ragged. He wasn’t going to last much longer.     

 

“God, God, God,” Harry mumbled. “Draco, I…”

 

Harry felt Draco hit that place inside him that made starbursts of light sparkle behind his eyes. That was all it took. He threw back his head and cried out as he came, hard. Bliss rolled through him, and he let himself drown in it.

 

Draco wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Harry clamped down around him even tighter. He managed one last shallow thrust before he orgasmed, his groin jerking against Harry as he gave himself over to the most incredible pleasure he’d ever felt in his life. It seemed to go on and on, but eventually the intensity ebbed. He found himself gasping for breath, holding himself above Harry on shaking arms.

 

When Harry’s eyes opened, they simply stared at each other for a long moment. Then Harry grabbed Draco’s face again and pulled him down for a short, hard kiss. Draco’s arms gave way, and he let himself down to lie on top of Harry, who didn’t seem to mind. They kissed again, longer, slower this time. When Draco finally pulled away, he lowered his forehead to rest it against Harry’s shoulder.

 

Harry was the first to break the silence. “Damn,” he whispered. Then he said it again more strongly: “Damn. Holy fucking shit. Draco…”

 

Draco pushed up a little and pulled himself slowly out of Harry. He saw Harry wince a little and figured he was sore.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered as he fell over onto his back. Just breathing seemed like a good idea at the moment.

 

After a few minutes, Harry rolled onto his side and propped himself on one elbow. He splayed his other hand across Draco’s chest and just looked at him.

 

It made Draco a little twitchy after a moment. “What?” he asked.

 

Harry blinked and seemed to come back to himself. “I have no idea what to say to you,” he finally admitted. “What is a man supposed to say after the most fantastic sex of his life?”

 

Draco’s lip quirked. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

 

Harry laughed. “I had no idea. I had no bloody idea sex could be like that. I mean, I’ve never had bad sex, but this…this was beyond good.” He looked at Draco closely, and a shadow of worry came into his eyes. “It was good for you, too, wasn’t it?”

 

 _Good?_ Draco held back the urge to laugh hysterically at the understatement. Like Harry, he didn’t seem to have the words to express how good it had been.

 

So he pulled Harry’s head down and used his mouth in another way to tell him how he felt. He set about snogging the life out of Harry and used his free hand to squeeze Harry’s arse before pulling him fully down on top of him.    

 

When Draco finally broke the kiss, Harry looked more than a little dazed. He blinked several times and then a slow grin spread across his face. “I guess that answers my question.”

 

“I should hope so,” Draco drawled, smirking a little.

 

“I must be heavy,” Harry said, propping himself up on his elbow again. He began to trace random patterns on Draco’s chest. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Draco.

 

“I don’t think I can move,” Draco said. “I…I never dreamed…I mean, I’d hoped it would be good. I thought it would be. Just the idea of fucking you made me so hot I could hardly stand it. But actually doing it, being inside you…I’ve never felt anything like it.”

 

“I’ve had a man inside me before,” Harry said, “but it wasn’t as good as having you inside me. For it being your first time…well, I guess I’ll say it again: you’re a natural.”

 

Draco laughed. “I had a very good teacher.”

 

Harry grinned. “I’m looking forward to teaching you more. You’re an excellent student.” He cocked his head. “Do you want to take a shower?”

 

“I am a little…sticky,” Draco said. “Do you mean with you? Shower with you?”

 

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and his eyes over Draco’s body. “Definitely with me. I’ve always wanted to find out what it was like to shower with someone else.”

 

A little glad the experience wouldn’t be the first time for just him, Draco sat up. “Then what are we waiting for?”

 

Harry’s shower was plenty large enough for the two of them. The second they were inside, Harry pressed Draco back against the shower wall and kissed him. Draco kissed him back, angling his leg between Harry’s so he could gently press his thigh against Harry’s growing erection. Harry groaned into his mouth and rubbed against him.

 

Their hands reached down almost simultaneously and brushed together as they took one another in hand. It was a new experience to work someone else’s cock while he was working your own. Draco decided he liked it very much.

 

Harry had gone back to sucking at the place where Draco’s neck met his collarbone; when he came, he bit down gently but firmly. It surprised Draco that being bitten could push him over the edge, but it did. His hand froze for a moment, but then he resumed stroking Harry until they both relaxed.

 

They actually cleaned up after that, although there was quite a bit of kissing and touching involved. After they’d dried off, they went back into the bedroom. After a slight hesitation, Draco reached for his pyjama bottoms. Harry took his other hand and pulled him around. Then he just looked at him.

 

“I can’t stay,” Draco said softly, knowing what Harry wanted to ask but wasn’t going to. “You know it isn’t safe for me to.”

 

“I know,” Harry said. He dropped Draco’s hand and stepped back. “I know.”

 

Draco watched as Harry turned and picked up his own pyjamas. The strength of his desire to give in and stay surprised Draco—and frightened him a little. How could he want this man so much? And what the hell was he supposed to do with these feelings that crowded him, the ones that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he tried to make them? He had to leave. He needed to leave. If he actually stayed and slept with Harry, he was afraid of what might happen.

 

“Good night, Harry,” he said softly.

 

Harry turned to look back at Draco. He didn’t know what these churned up feelings inside him meant, but he was pretty sure they showed on his face, and he didn’t really care. But he didn’t want Draco to leave with this…awkwardness between them.

 

He stepped closer and kissed him, hard. When he pulled back, he made himself grin. “Thank you for fucking me, Draco Malfoy.”

 

Draco choked out a laugh. “Thanks for letting me,” he finally said, still chuckling.

 

“Maybe we’ll switch it around one of these days,” Harry said. “Good night.”

 

Draco shook his head, still smiling. “Good night, Harry.”

 

Draco slipped into his room, thankful once again that Remus Lupin wasn’t prone to wandering the halls at night. He knew quite well what Harry had been after by thanking him for fucking him: easing the tension. Harry was very good at that, Draco thought. Amongst other things.

 

The tension had been broken, but the problem still remained: Draco’s feelings for Harry were growing stronger, and he had a terrible suspicion he wasn’t alone. Sometimes the way Harry looked at him…it gave him butterflies in his stomach, something Draco definitely wasn’t used to.

 

He couldn’t begin to explain how he felt for Harry. It was all very confusing. But it was more than just a physical wanting, a sexual pull, which was all it was supposed to be. His feelings for Harry went well beyond simple lust and a desire to be touched. He was very afraid they went entirely too deep. He should pull back. He knew he should. His brain was shouting at him to break things off before he was completely in over his head.

 

But Draco knew he wouldn’t. Maybe it was this new, less cautious side to him. Maybe it was Harry’s “fuck the world” attitude influencing him. Maybe it was the fact that even though these feelings confused him greatly, he also liked how they made him feel—happy. He didn’t know. What he did know is he wouldn’t break it off with Harry. He also knew one other thing: he was horribly, terribly afraid he was falling in love with Harry Potter.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

 

Harry spent the next several nights in sheer sexual heaven. Now that Draco had experienced it, he was as eager for more “real sex” as Harry was. They were together every night. One night Harry snuck into Draco’s room for seconds. He felt as randy as the teenager he supposed he was. Draco was still topping, which was absolutely fine with Harry. He figured they’d get around to trying it the other way around soon enough—he knew Draco was curious. But that didn’t mean they weren’t experimenting. They’d tried multiple positions, each of them quite enjoyable.

 

Even though it got a little harder every night to watch Draco go, Harry still looked forward to the next night. Anytime those annoying, confusing feelings started to twist inside him again, he ruthlessly pushed them aside. This was sex. This was physical. This was about getting off and having fun. There was nothing else to it. He wouldn’t let there be. Draco didn’t want anything more from him. Harry kept telling himself he didn’t want anything more from Draco. Even if he did, it would be impossible. Not only were they in the middle of a war in which Harry played a central role—which Harry figured was a pretty lousy time to start a relationship with someone—he was talking about Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. The two least likely people to ever…well, they’d been the two least likely people to have sex, and that had still happened. But nothing else could or would. Harry couldn’t let it. He wouldn’t even let himself think about it.

 

But he did think about it. A lot.

 

Harry could deny it all he wanted, but he knew he was feeling way too much for a superficial relationship. He hadn’t felt anything like this when he’d been having sex with the Muggle bloke. Nothing remotely close. He hadn’t felt anything like this when he was dating Ginny. He’d cared about her and had maybe tried to fall in love with her a little, but he hadn’t. Now he had these complicated feelings running around inside him, popping up at inconvenient times. He thought perhaps it was a good thing they had to keep their affair a secret because otherwise he thought he’d want to spend half the day touching Draco. Or even just looking at him. It was ridiculous. Even thinking about a deeper relationship with Draco was ridiculous.

 

Maybe he needed to do something, something that would remind him of some of the reasons he and Draco just weren’t meant to be together except in bed (there, they were definitely meant to be together, in Harry’s decided opinion). Maybe it was time for one of those difficult conversations he tended to avoid. But this one had been a long time coming, and it might serve a purpose for him now, in addition to answering some of the questions he wanted—no, needed—answered.

 

After lunch, Draco headed towards the training room for their usual practice, and Harry followed along. But when he entered the room, he cast privacy and locking wards.

 

Draco looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

 

“I’d like to talk with you about something before we start practice,” Harry said, feeling a bit nervous.

 

Draco looked at him warily. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s not about…us, if that’s what you’re thinking. Well, it is about us, but it’s not about sleeping together.”

 

Harry thought Draco looked a little relieved.

 

“I think we need to talk about the past, our past. We get along fine now, but we haven’t always, and there are a few things bothering me that I’d like settled, if possible.”

 

Draco was back to looking at Harry warily. He really didn’t want to have this conversation.

 

“What brought this on?” he asked.

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, not overly concerned about the lie. “I’ve meant to talk with you about it several times, but something else has always come up.”

 

“I’m not sure what there is to discuss. We hated each other. I tried to get you in trouble at every opportunity, and you liked to try and get back at me. Not that you never started any trouble yourself.”

 

“That’s a lovely little summary of our past relationship,” Harry said dryly.

 

Draco shrugged. “It’s true.”

 

“I guess what I really want to know is why. Why you hated me.”

 

Draco sighed and decided he might as well be comfortable. He transfigured a table into a chair for himself. Harry didn’t see anything else in the room to transfigure, so he decided to try conjuring one. He did so successfully, much to his surprise.

 

“I’ve never done that before,” he said, circling the oddly-patterned armchair and giving it a shake to make sure it wouldn’t collapse or disappear if he sat on it.

 

Draco grinned at him. “Magic does come in handy, doesn’t it?”

 

“It does indeed,” Harry said, “and that provided us with a nice lead-in to this conversation. Maybe I should tell you why I started off not liking you very much. As I’ve told you, I didn’t know anything about Hogwarts or being a wizard until Hagrid brought me my letter.”

 

Draco scowled. He really hated Harry’s Muggle family for how they’d withheld his heritage from him.

 

Harry smiled a little and continued, “When I first met you, in Madam Malkin’s, I was incredibly nervous and completely overwhelmed. You were talking about things I had no idea about. I wasn’t used to talking to strangers, even if they were my own age. But to be perfectly honest—and I know this is going to insult you—you reminded me of my Muggle relatives.”

 

“I what?” Draco asked, indeed looking and feeling supremely insulted.

 

Harry grinned. “Yeah, I didn’t understand everything you were saying, but I knew it wasn’t very nice. You were negative about Hogwarts’ rules, and you made a few comments about people that didn’t sound very...tolerant. I’d grown up not being tolerated, or just barely so. I was excited about Hogwarts—terrified, but excited. I didn’t like to hear anything negative about it.”

 

Draco tilted his head. “You remember the conversation better than I do. I just remember finding out later you were Harry Potter and thinking I’d missed an opportunity to do like I knew my father would have wanted me to do if he’d known you were starting at Hogwarts and find out more about you.”

 

“Your father wanted to know about me?”

 

“Yes, of course he would have, but I must admit I was rather curious myself. Harry, you were a legend in our world. The Boy Who Lived. You still are, but at least now people know you actually exist, and the story about you surviving the Killing Curse is actually true. At that time, no one had ever seen you. Some people didn’t really believe you were still alive, that it was just a rumour perpetuated by people who like fairy tales. Others thought for certain you were, but you were hidden away for some reason, which I guess is what turned out to be the truth.”

 

Harry sighed. “I know I was a bit of a curiosity. I didn’t particularly like it, especially since I didn’t understand it. An evil wizard killing my parents? Me surviving some impossible-to-survive magic curse? It all seemed to me like one of those fairy tales you mentioned.”

 

Draco tiled his head thoughtfully and smiled slightly. “I’ve never thought of it from your perspective. I guess it would seem a little fantastic.”

 

“More than a little. I had a very hard time believing it, but everyone kept telling me it was true, and everywhere I went people looked at me like I was some kind of…of…”

 

“God?” Draco supplied dryly.

 

Harry laughed. “Well, maybe not a god, but a hero. I wasn’t a hero. I had just turned eleven years old, for Pete’s sake. How could I be a hero? I’d lived most of my life in a cupboard under my aunt and uncle’s stairs. My cousin beat me up on a regular basis. I worked like a house-elf. I was short and scrawny with broken glasses. I wasn’t anything special, and I certainly wasn’t a hero. I still don’t think I ever was. I didn’t _do_ anything heroic as a baby—I simply survived something no one else ever had before. It might make me a bit odd, which I was quite used to being told I was, but it doesn’t make me a hero.”

 

“Regardless of the fact that you might not have actually _done_ anything to earn your fame—which is a fact I always resented you for—you were and are a hero for ridding the world of the—er, Voldemort, who was terrorizing our world. Ridding it of him temporarily at least. Of course, my father wasn’t very keen on you—he’d been quite happy joining in on the terrorizing and getting off on the power and thrill of it. That’s why he would have wanted me to find out about you. You were a mystery, and one that had caused an abrupt end to his Dark Lord’s reign.”

 

“So you hated me because of your father?”

 

Draco thought about it for a moment. “In part, I suppose. I’d grown up hearing your name cursed. My father was my idol. Perhaps lots of little boys look up to their fathers, but mine seemed to have everything—a manor house, tons of money, power within the community. You grew up thinking you were not very special; I was raised knowing I was special, simply because I was a Malfoy.”

 

He hesitated a moment, and then decided to go ahead and say it. “But I really started hating you because of Weasley, which I think you already know.”

 

“Because I turned down your offer of friendship on the train in favour of a poor, good-for-nothing Weasley.”

 

“Yes. I didn’t understand it. I always got what I wanted, and I wanted to be able to say I was friends with the great Harry Potter. It wasn’t just knowing my father would want me to find out everything I could about you that made me approach you that day—I wanted your…cachet.”

 

“Cachet, eh?” Harry laughed. “Isn’t that something. Me, an eleven year old magical virgin, having cachet a high and mighty Malfoy would covet.”

 

Draco gave him a sour look. “Even at eleven I knew knowing you would bring me prestige—something I wanted for myself, and something I knew my father would be proud of me having.” Then he grinned. “Magical virgin? That’s a new one.”

 

Harry laughed. “But it’s an accurate description. Hermione is Muggle-born and could do more magic than I could, a kid with two magical parents.”

 

“You basically were a Muggle-born, weren’t you?” Draco realised.

 

“Might as well have been. I was on the same level, both in terms of being able to do magic and understanding what the hell I was getting into. It had occurred to me that some of the things that had happened to me over the years could be explained by magic, though.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Harry chuckled. “One time I was being chased by Dudley and some other bullies at primary school, and somehow wound up on the roof of the school. I was more surprised than anyone else. One second I was on the ground running, the next I was up on a fucking roof.”

 

“You _Apparated_?” Draco asked in disbelief. “That’s not even supposed to be possible for a child.”

 

“I don’t know what I did. No one believed me when I told them I didn’t know how I’d gotten up there; I’d tried to jump behind some rubbish bins and ended up sitting on the chimney. I wondered if I’d somehow turned into Superman, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.” Harry laughed.

 

“Superman?”

 

Harry waved it aside. “Sorry, you wouldn’t know about that. Muggle superhero. Just a made-up one.”

 

“If you say so. What other spontaneous magic did you do as a child?”

 

“Is that what it’s called? Spontaneous magic?”

 

“Yes, or accidental magic. It’s fairly common in magical children. It happened to me a few times, though I don’t really remember it. And it wasn’t anything as dramatic as appearing on a roof. I made the vegetables I didn’t want to eat Vanish once. My mother likes telling that story.” A feeling of sadness passed through him at the thought of his mother, and it showed on his face. He wondered if he’d ever know what happened to her.

 

Harry was very curious about Draco’s mother—he’d mention his father occasionally, and of course they’d talked about him after Draco had killed him, but he’d never said a word about his mother. Harry figured there was a reason for it and didn’t ask anything.

 

“Vegetables, huh? Let’s see, what else did I do? Oh, I made my hair grow back when my aunt cut it all off. She hated it wouldn’t lie down flat.”

 

“Sweet Merlin, I hate her even more now. How dare she cut all the hair off your head?”

 

“Well, it grew back overnight. I think it did because I was so embarrassed by the way I looked and knew the kids at school would torment me even more over it the next day.”

 

“Were you really treated so badly?”

 

“Yeah, I was bullied a lot, most of the time by my cousin and his friends. It pretty much sucked.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, and he was.

 

Harry shrugged. “I can stand up for myself now, thank God.” Then his eyes lit up. “But the coolest thing I ever did accidentally before I knew I was a wizard was release a snake at the zoo.”

 

“How did you do that?”

 

“I felt sorry for the snake, trapped behind the glass all alone. So I made a comment, more talking to myself than the snake, but it responded. I kept talking, and it communicated with me by moving its tail and its head. I swear it did. Then Dudley shoved me to the floor, hard, and I got really pissed off. Next thing I knew, the glass front to the snake’s cage had vanished, everyone was screaming, and the snake was slithering away.

 

“Then I heard it speak to me.”

 

“Parselmouth,” Draco realised.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “’Course I didn’t know that then. I just somehow knew I’d freed that snake and couldn’t for the life of me figure out how. I had lots of time to think about it, too, locked in my cupboard as I was for punishment, but I never could figure it out.”

 

“They punished you?”

 

“Oh, sure, every time anything strange happened, I was punished.” He spoke dismissively, with a kind of verbal shrug. “Locked in my cupboard, no food, that kind of thing.”

 

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” Draco snarled.

 

Harry was a bit taken aback by Draco’s vehemence. “Since I know you’re actually capable of it, I’ll tell you that’s not necessary. They don’t matter to me anymore. I never have to see them again, which is just how I like it.

 

“Anyway, we seem to have gotten off track here. We’re supposed to be talking about all the nasty things you did to me as a child.”

 

“It’s not like you were completely innocent,” Draco pointed out.

 

Harry grinned. “I certainly wasn’t. But…” He hesitated. “You could be very cruel, Draco. You played tricks, which is one thing, but you said and did things above and beyond just schoolyard pranks. You called people like Hermione nasty names. You insulted my friends. You mocked me for collapsing when Dementors were near and scared the shit out of me by dressing up like one during that Quidditch match. Then you were part of that bitch’s Inquisitorial Squad. You almost got me expelled when you ratted us out.”

 

“And I was very disappointed when you weren’t expelled,” Draco said, not afraid to admit it. He might as well be honest. “I took great pleasure in tormenting you. You always responded with anger, which made it even more fun. I loved spending time thinking up new ways to make your life miserable. I was pretty damn good at it, too. You had what I wanted, and I hated you for it. I’m a Slytherin; we’re not nice people. I’m not a nice person.”

 

“What did I have that you wanted?”

 

“Everything. You were famous, there were stories of the fantastic adventures you and your sidekicks had, you not only won at Quidditch, but you made the team as a first-year, you stole the House Cup from us that year. You were popular; some revered you. You were Dumbledore’s pet and got away with everything. Well, most everything. Snape never let you get away with anything.”

 

“You were jealous,” Harry realised.

 

Draco didn’t like that word and frowned. “You could look it that way. I didn’t. I just knew I hated you.”

 

“I hated you too. I don’t know who I hated more, you or Snape. You were quite successful in making my life hell sometimes.”

 

“Your very existence made my life hell sometimes,” Draco said, smiling wryly.

 

“Why did you do it? I know you hated me, but you didn’t have to be such a bastard. You could have just ignored me.”

 

“As I’ve already said, I’m not a nice person, Harry. I wasn’t raised to be one, and nice people would never survive in Slytherin. We value power, and one way to hold power is to bring down someone viewed as something special. That would have been you. I never felt a single shred of guilt for what I did to you back then; I enjoyed it. And I enjoyed the status it gained me within my house.”

 

“Yes, I know you did.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “I know you weren’t sorry for it then, and I don’t think you’re sorry for it even now, are you?” He looked at Draco steadily as he waited for his answer.

 

Draco considered this. Was he sorry? Would he do those things to Harry now? No, of course he wouldn’t. But was he sorry for doing it back then?

 

“Perhaps a little, knowing now that you had a pretty shitty life before you joined the wizarding world, and knowing you better as a person now. But I can’t honestly tell you I regret all the things I did to you, and I’m not going to apologise, if that’s what you’re after. It’s who I was then, and I make no apologises for being who I am.”

 

Harry hadn’t expected an apology, nor did he really need one. What he’d needed was some questions answered, and he’d gotten his answers.

 

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said finally. “I can’t say I’m particularly sorry for the things I did to you back then either; I still think you deserved it for being the little shit you were.”

 

Draco grinned. “I told you I was good at it.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Only you would be proud of making someone’s life hell.”

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m proud of it, per se. At least not anymore. I’m just not sorry for it.”

 

Harry shrugged. It didn’t really matter. “When did you stop hating me? Because I don’t think you’d be in my bed as often as you are if you still hated me, no matter how good the sex was.”

 

“True enough,” Draco agreed. And he was well aware what he felt for Harry now was nothing like hatred. “When did I stop hating you? I don’t really know. I guess it sort of happened gradually.”

 

He paused and considered for a moment how much he wanted to say. He knew where this was going to lead. It wasn’t easy for him to open up and expose himself, but he also knew Harry was right, and this was a discussion that had to happen. He was still surprised it hadn’t come up earlier, especially after the conversation between Harry, Granger, and the weasel he’d overheard. He was grateful the conversation at least wasn’t happening as part of an ugly shouting match.

 

“Sixth-year was difficult for me; there were a lot of things happening in my life, and I was doing a hell of a lot of thinking. I had to make decisions about what I really believed and if I really wanted to be a Death Eater. I had much bigger things to worry about than you—a war, a crazy father who’d escaped from prison, and a Dark Lord. Tormenting you stopped being a priority. I thought about you a lot, and perhaps somewhere along the line the hatred mellowed a bit. I did a lot of growing up that year, made some very big decisions about what I was going to do with my life.”

 

Harry nodded in understanding. “I guess I did a lot of growing up that year myself. I found out about the prophecy at the end of fifth-year, and learning it was up to me to kill Voldemort made me grow up pretty fast. I was sixteen, I didn’t know anything close to what I needed to know to defeat a Dark wizard as powerful as Voldemort, and I was scared shitless. I did notice you weren’t there causing me trouble every time I turned around, which was rather nice. I was perfectly happy to leave you alone, too. Like you, I had much bigger things to worry about.

 

“But I am curious—you said you thought about me. Why is that?”

 

“Your side was one of my choices. I didn’t know how much it really was _your_ side at the time, not knowing the prophecy, but you were a symbol of it, someone my own age that I knew. I knew what you believed—Muggle-borns were the equal of pure-bloods; blood status didn’t matter to you. Power didn’t matter to you. You believed in doing the right thing, fighting the good fight. I had to decide if I agreed with any of that—or if I at least agreed more with you than the Dark Lord.”

 

“It would have been easier for you to just go along with everything you’d been taught and willingly join Voldemort’s side.”

 

“That’s very true, which is why sixth-year was so difficult for me. I had to think for myself for the first time, and what I was thinking about was rather serious. Changing viewpoints you’ve held your entire life isn’t easy.”

 

Harry’s gaze was direct and intense. “Have you changed your viewpoints? About blood status?”

 

Draco sighed. He didn’t want to have to explain this to Harry; it was too complicated, and he really didn’t understand it himself. But this was exactly where he’d known this conversation was headed.

 

“I have, though I wouldn’t say I believe exactly as you do,” he said slowly, working out in his head how to put into words conclusions that had come after days, weeks, _months_ of deep thinking. “I figured out that Muggle-borns and half-bloods such as yourself are necessary to the wizarding world. Without them, wizards will die out. There just aren’t enough of us pure-bloods left, and continuing to intermarry strictly with other pure-bloods isn’t wise in the long run.

 

“At first I decided that half-bloods weren’t that bad. They could be tolerated. But I still didn’t like Muggle-borns. Then I realised half-bloods came from Muggle-borns as much as they came from pure-bloods or other half-bloods. So how could I exclude Muggle-borns from the wizarding world if they were necessary to create the half-bloods I’d decided were acceptable?”

 

“What did you decide then?”

 

“I still haven’t fully decided. I certainly don’t think anyone should be killed based on blood status. I can’t rationalise keeping Muggle-borns out of the wizarding world, but it’s so ingrained in me to believe that pure-bloods are superior, I don’t know that I’ll ever believe as you do and think we’re all equals.”

 

Harry cocked his head to the side and thought about that. Well, he and Draco weren’t as far apart as they’d once been on the blood status issue, and he’d like it a hell of a lot better if Draco could honestly say he held no prejudices against non-pure-bloods, but he could sort of understand Draco’s perspective. He was going against everything he’d been taught to believe. But he didn’t feel like he was getting the full story here.

 

“I can accept that. I obviously disagree with you, and I’m not jumping for joy that you still hold some old prejudices, but I can accept your position and respect your honesty. But surely more than basic biology convinced you to change your beliefs. Was there something else?”

 

Draco sighed again and cursed Harry’s perceptiveness. He really wanted this topic dropped, but knew there was nothing to be done except finish it.

 

“You.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes. You and quite a few other examples that prove half-bloods and Muggle-borns can be damn good wizards, magically speaking. And not all pure-bloods are. Snape’s a half-blood, Granger’s a Muggle-born, any number of non-pure-blood students who are good at magic attend Hogwarts—but so do a few pure-bloods who suck, like Crabbe and Goyle.”

 

Harry chuckled; he couldn’t help himself.

 

Draco smiled wryly. “Well, it’s true, as you well know. And then there’s you. When I was doing all this thinking back in sixth-year, I didn’t know how powerful you were, but I knew you were good, at least in Defence. It killed me to admit it, but it was true. Now I know for a fact how powerful you are, and it’s more evidence on your side of this scale than mine.”

 

“I see.” Harry was a bit awed that his skill at magic had helped Draco Malfoy, a firm believer in pure-blood superiority, change his thinking a little. More than a little it sounded like.

 

He moistened his lips and decided the conversation had actually gone pretty well. Well enough that he felt safe in asking one more question.

 

“Are you fully on our side, Draco? One hundred per cent? I know you weren’t at first; you said so. You wanted to be neutral but got stuck with us as the lesser of two evils. What about now?”

 

“Well, you certainly decided today would be a fine day to ask a lot of difficult questions,” Draco drawled. “Are you sure you want to know the answer to that one?”

 

“I am.” But Draco’s response made Harry a little nervous.

 

“I’ve chosen this side. When I did, it was the lesser of two evils, as you say, but now I truly accept it as the side I’m meant to be on. I need our side to win this war—my life is pretty much over if we lose.”

 

“Mine is too.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right.” And Draco didn’t like that thought at all. He didn’t like the idea of Harry dying any more than he liked the idea of dying himself. “But in addition to needing our side to win this war, which is all it started as for me, I now _want_ us to win the war. Your side—our side—isn’t just the better side; it’s the right side. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yeah, I do.” And Harry was incredibly relieved by Draco’s answer. He could accept knowing that Draco wasn’t sorry for the things he’d done to Harry and others in the past. He could accept Draco was still wrestling with the issue of what to believe regarding blood status. But he didn’t think he could accept knowing Draco didn’t fully support his own side in this war, that he had any doubts that their side was the right side.

 

“Are we done with difficult questions now?” Draco asked, sincerely hoping the answer was yes.

 

Harry grinned. “I guess we are. I’m sorry if this conversation has made you uncomfortable. I can see you aren’t angry about it, which I’m glad about, but I don’t think you’ve enjoyed it very much. Not that I have either.”

 

“No, ‘enjoyed’ is not the word I’d use to describe how I feel about this conversation,” Draco said dryly. “But I suppose you were right. It was something that needed to happen.”

 

Harry stood up and crossed to Draco, taking his hand and pulling him up. “I know I promised I’d never do this again outside of our—er, my—room, and I still won’t if you tell me not to. But I’d like to end this with something I know we both do enjoy.”

 

Draco considered and decided he didn’t mind—he could use something to take a little of this weight he felt off his mind. “Just one. One kiss.”

 

Harry grinned. “Then I guess I’d better make it a good one.”

 

He grabbed Draco’s arse, pulled him against him and took his mouth with his own. He put a lot of passion into the kiss; he had the need to let Draco know this conversation hadn’t really changed how he felt about him—however it was that he did feel about him. At least it would tell him he still wanted him.

 

Draco dove into the war of tongues enthusiastically. The relief he felt at knowing Harry still wanted this, still wanted him, was staggering. He’d have to think about that later, but at the moment he just put all he had into snogging the breath out of Harry.

 

When they finally ended the kiss, Harry was indeed breathing heavily. So was Draco.

 

A slow, mischievous smile spread across Harry’s face. “I know we’re meant to be duelling now, but the duelling I want to do doesn’t involve my magic wand.” He pressed his half-hard cock against Draco. “It involves another wand entirely.”

 

Draco couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of him. Then he couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Harry joined in, and soon they were laughing so hard Draco actually felt a tear roll down his cheek.

 

“That has to be,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath, “the corniest line in the history of corny lines.”

 

“It really was, wasn’t it?” Harry said, grinning unrepentantly. “But it was pretty damn funny.”

 

Draco’s laughter died down to chuckles, and he grinned back at Harry. “Good thing you didn’t try using that line when we first started having sex,” he joked. “I don’t think I would have ever gotten in bed with you.”

 

“And that, my friend, would be a terrible tragedy.”

 

“Indeed. Can we start training now? Or do you have any more corny lines to dish out?”

 

“I think I’m done with those. But let’s have a snack first. Talking so long has made me hungry.”

 

“Talking generally makes people thirsty,” Draco observed as he headed to the door with Harry.

 

“That too,” Harry agreed. “The first pumpkin juice is on me.”

 

Draco laughed and followed Harry down to the kitchen.

 

 

***********************************************************************************

 

 

Harry’s conversation had answered a lot of questions, but it hadn’t served the purpose he’d half hoped it would: making him like Draco Malfoy less. The walk down memory lane hadn’t been pleasant, and if it had done anything at all in regard to his viewpoint on Draco, it had made him respect him a little bit more. He’d been honest, almost brutally so at times. And Harry respected honesty. Harry respected Draco for the strength it had taken for him to change his views regarding blood status and to turn away from his father and Voldemort.

 

The fact that Draco admitted to not being a nice person bothered Harry a little though; could he really be with someone like that for anything more than a casual sexual relationship? Wouldn’t it cause problems down the road? Harry thought of himself as a generally good person—certainly not perfect, but he was usually nice to people. Would that basic difference in their personalities eventually drive a wedge between them? It wouldn’t matter so much if it did if it were only sex. They just wouldn’t have sex any more. But these feelings inside him had him wanting more than just sex. A lot more.

 

He could say fuck the world and have sex with Draco Malfoy. He was starting to think he could say fuck the world and try to have a relationship with him. If Draco was even interested. That was another part of Harry’s problem—he had no idea if Draco thought of him as anything more than a friend with benefits.

 

A real relationship could never be kept secret, and he knew it. He wouldn’t want to keep it secret. He did think they were doing a damn fine job of keeping the relationship they did have a secret though. His friends seemed to suspect nothing when they were around. Ron and Draco ignored each other, which made everyone else very happy.

 

In addition to his dilemma regarding his feelings for Draco, Harry was also a little frustrated with the lack of progress at finding a sure way to end Voldemort for good and a lot frustrated with the fact that lightning attacks kept occurring in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. They couldn’t fight against those quick strikes. They never had any warning.  

 

Harry knew Snape was doing what he could, but he was a bit stuck. The attacks were all last minute, and only the Death Eaters selected to be involved in the attack were told anything about it at all. There was also the problem that if Snape was ordered to participate in or lead an attack, if he told the Order about it, it would be rather obvious that someone had tipped them off. Most of the attacks happened in Muggle areas—they couldn’t use the same ruse as they had in Hogsmeade when they’d made it appear as if the Weasley twins had just happened to be there at the right time. It was all very frustrating.

 

The fact he was still having flashbacks was yet another unwanted ingredient in his stew of emotions. Some were worse than others, but they all left him shaken. He felt he’d gotten pretty good at covering up any signs of a poor night’s sleep and at burying whatever residual fear and angst he felt the next day, as no one said anything to him. That was all well and good from his perspective; he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

After breakfast one morning, Draco disappeared upstairs to work on making more Apparition Hoops. He’d given the ones he’d finished to Dumbledore, who was apparently trying to decide how to make the best use of them. Harry decided it was a good time to look through more of the Dark Arts books that filled the library. It would be productive and hopefully keep his mind off other things.

 

He’d just pulled a book off a shelf when Remus came in and closed the door behind him.

 

“Hey, Remus. Want to help me look for a spell to destroy Voldemort?”

 

“Perhaps a little later.” Remus used his wand to cast privacy and locking spells. Harry lifted his brows.

 

“What’s up? Is something wrong?”

 

“I’m not sure. There’s something I need to ask you, and I’d like an honest answer.”

 

Harry felt dread begin to build in his stomach. This couldn’t be about…

 

“Harry, are you sleeping with Draco?”

 

Harry almost dropped the book he was holding. He had no idea what to say.

 

“What?” he said, stalling for time.

 

“You heard me,” Remus said patiently.

 

“Why would…” Harry trailed off and mentally shook his head. What was the point in denying it?

 

He sighed and closed his eyes briefly before admitting, “Yes. Yes, I am. How did you know?”

 

“In retrospect, there were a few little signs I didn’t think much about at the time, but the full moon is coming around again soon. My senses always get a little sharper when it does. Not to be indelicate, but you smell like sex. Often. And so does Draco. Even more telling, you smell like each other.”

 

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed. It had never occurred to him that Remus would be able to _scent_ them.

 

Harry’s eyes widened as the implications started to sink in. “You can’t tell anyone, Remus, please. Please don’t tell anyone.”

 

Remus sighed and took a seat on one of the small sofas. He gestured for Harry to sit down as well. Harry sat across from him in one of the atrociously flowered armchairs.

 

“I don’t plan on telling anyone,” Remus started and was a little amused to see Harry breathe a huge sigh of relief. “But I am going to question your judgement on this.”

 

Harry dragged a hand through his already messy hair. “I have a pretty good idea of what you’re going to say.”

 

Remus smiled a little. “Harry, are you sure this is wise? You both have to know how risky this is. How dangerous a relationship between you could be for both of you.”

 

“It’s not a relationship, exactly,” Harry said, wanting to squirm. He wasn’t comfortable talking about sex with Remus, but he also didn’t want to lie to him. The problem was, he didn’t know how to define his relationship with Draco. He finally decided to go with the only thing he knew for certain: “It’s just a…sex thing.”

 

“A sex thing,” Remus repeated. “You’re taking some awfully big chances just to have sex.” He tilted his head. “I didn’t even know you were gay. I didn’t know Draco was either, but then, I don’t know him as well as I do you.”

 

“Well, yeah, I am. It’s not something I’ve advertised, as it’s my personal business, but I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not trying to hide anything. Well, except for the fact that the man I’m sleeping with is someone no one in this world wants me sleeping with.”

 

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

 

Harry laughed at Remus’ dry tone. “Look, Remus, I know it’s crazy. _We_ know it’s crazy. We didn’t just jump into this—we did think about it first. We know all hell will break loose if anyone finds out. We’re doing our best to keep it quiet. I just didn’t count on your, erm, heightened senses.”

 

“You said you thought about this. May I ask what made you decide the risk was worth it?”

 

“I wanted him,” Harry said bluntly.

 

“I understand about hormones,” Remus said, again in that dry tone. “But I know quite well that isn’t the only reason.”

 

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth. “No, it’s not. It’s hard to explain. I know it’s selfish, but for once I just wanted to take something I wanted and damn the consequences. I almost died, Remus, and I might very well die in the near future. I don’t want to put off happiness until after the war. There may _be_ no after the war for me.”

 

“I hate hearing you say that.”

 

“You know it’s true, though. There are no guarantees in war, and I’m in the position of having to kill or be killed. It’s me who has to end this war. I’m tired of putting my life on hold for this damn war. I’ve already lost most of my freedom. I’m risking my life in battle. I was captured and tortured for days. I should have died then. I know that.

 

“I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. Hell, a third chance since I’ve also survived the Killing Curse. I don’t want to waste it. I don’t want to put off happiness anymore.”

 

“And being with Draco makes you happy?” Remus asked quietly.

 

“It does, yes. It makes me happier than I’ve been in a very long time.”

 

“Harry,” Remus said slowly. “Are you sure this is just ‘a sex thing’ for you? You’re taking a huge risk, you’ve chosen someone with a hell of a lot of baggage, and you say you’re happy. You look happy. I don’t think ‘just sex’ is enough to explain what I’m hearing from you here.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath. He dropped his head into his hands, burying his fingers in his thick hair. “I don’t know what it is,” he said, his voice muffled. “It was supposed to just be sex.”

 

He lifted his head, and Remus was surprised by the misery he saw in Harry’s eyes. “It can’t be more than sex. I know this. I do. But I can’t seem to stop myself from wishing there could be more.”

 

“How does Draco feel?”

 

“Hell if I know,” Harry said, huffing out a humourless laugh. “It’s definitely not anything we’ve talked about. We both got into this because we wanted each other, physically. Neither of us went into this looking for any kind of relationship. I’m pretty sure that hasn’t changed for Draco.”

 

Remus wondered about that, but said nothing. It was only speculation.

 

Instead he asked gently, “Harry, are you in love with him?”

 

“I don’t know!” Harry burst out, frustrated with his inability to understand his own emotions. “I hope to hell I’m not.”

 

“Why?”

 

Harry just looked at Remus, incredulity written all over his face. “ _Why?_ You know damn well why. You’ve been sitting here telling me how insane this is, how dangerous. It’s reckless. I bloody well know it’s foolish. I also know absolutely nothing can come of it, no matter how I might feel. Falling in love with Draco Malfoy is the stupidest thing I could possibly do.”

 

“I don’t believe love is ever stupid. I also don’t believe we choose who we love.”

 

“Well, then I’m screwed,” Harry said bitterly.

 

“You may very well be,” Remus agreed.

 

“Gee, thanks a lot,” Harry said sourly.

 

“You’re the one who took the risk, Harry,” Remus reminded him. “You just didn’t anticipate developing feelings for Draco as part of that risk.”

 

“No, I didn’t. Do you really think I might be in love with him?”

 

“I can’t answer that; only you can. Give it some time, Harry, give it some thought. It’s not like you have to make some kind of decision whether you are or aren’t right now.”

 

Remus paused and seemed to gather his thoughts. “Harry, whatever you decide, however it ends up between you and Draco, I want you to know I support you.”

 

Harry stared at him. “You’d support a relationship between me and Draco?”

 

“If that’s what you both decided you wanted, I would. I want only to see you happy. You’re not my actual godson, but I think of you as one. All I want is for you to be safe and happy.

 

“But I’m warning you to think about this very, very carefully. I understand your wanting to take happiness where you can find it—if anyone deserves it, you do. But a relationship with Draco Malfoy, be it simply physical or something more, is more than likely going to cause you some pain if it gets out. You need to be prepared for that eventuality. You need to be sure the potential consequences are worth the risk you’re taking.”

 

He hesitated and cleared his throat. “I’m not trying to tell you who you should care for and who you shouldn’t, but if you think you’re developing deeper feelings for Draco, you need to consider carefully who he is and who he was. Don’t let physical attraction blinker you. I like Draco, and I feel he’s stepped away from the Darker path he was planning to travel, but his background and his past actions and beliefs are part of who he is and always will be. As will the Mark he wears on his arm. If there is anyone who embodies the traits of a Slytherin, it’s Draco Malfoy. I don’t mean the association with Dark magic and evil that Slytherin House has become synonymous with in more recent times, but the general personality traits that have applied to the members of that house since the time of Salazar Slytherin: cunning, shrewdness, ambition, and an admiration of power. None of those are negative in and of themselves; it depends on how they are applied. But you know as well as I do how Draco has used those traits for his own ends in the past.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. “I hear what you’re saying, and I know you’re right. We’re very different people, and that may be too big an obstacle for us to overcome in the long run. Trust me, I’ve spent quite a lot of time thinking about this already, and I’ll continue thinking about it—and very carefully.”

 

“That’s all I can ask.” Remus stood up. “Will you tell Draco I know?”

 

“Yeah, I will. He’s going to completely freak out—he’s more worried about people finding out about us than I am. I think he’s afraid he’ll be put out on the street if anyone finds out.”

 

Remus frowned. “Your power within the Order would keep that from happening, but I’m not sure even you could prevent some people from making things very difficult for him.”

 

“I’m not sure what you mean about my power within the Order, but you’re right in that I’d never let him be sent away. This is my home, and he’s welcome in it. And I’d do my damnedest to make sure things weren’t made difficult for him. It’s not like he forced me into anything—if anything, this is more my doing than his.”

 

“You have a great deal of power within the Order, Harry. And respect. You’re the Chosen One. You’re a leader. You’re a powerful wizard. You’re passionate and you’re well-spoken. You know very well people are looking to you to save them. You’ve made your own place in the Order just by being who you are, but the people are giving you more power.” Remus paused. “That power will shield you to some extent, but you’ll need to use that power to protect Draco if things go south.”

 

Harry looked grim. “I’d use every bit I have.”

 

Remus smiled a little. He’d say Harry was well on his way to being in love with Draco Malfoy, if he wasn’t already. Harry was fiercely protective of those he loved.

 

“I’ll let you get back to your books,” Remus said, stepping towards the door.

 

“Yeah, like I’m really going to be able to concentrate on reading archaic English right now,” Harry said dryly.

 

Remus laughed. “I’ve got to run to Hogwarts, but when I’m back I’ll help you if you want. See you later.”

 

“Hey, Remus,” Harry said. “I…thank you. Thank you for keeping our secret, and thank you for your support, however it turns out. It means a lot to me.”

 

“You mean a lot to me.” With that, Remus left Harry alone with his swirling thoughts.

 

 

************************************************************************

 

 

Harry did give a lot of thought to his problem. He tried to sort through his feelings for Draco but just found himself getting more and more confused. The more confused he got, the more agitated he felt. He kept going back and forth with trying to figure out what he felt for Draco and telling himself it didn’t matter what he felt because nothing could ever come of it if he did feel anything. Figuring he was going to drive himself mental if he didn’t give his mind a rest, he headed to the kitchen to make dinner.

 

He was just finishing up when first Draco then Remus showed up. While Draco was setting the table, Remus gave Harry a questioning look. Harry knew he wanted to know if he’d told Draco yet. He shook his head slightly. He was waiting until tonight.

 

Harry made it through dinner and afterwards, somehow managing to talk and joke like his life hadn’t been turned upside down by his conversation with Remus. He did head for bed earlier than usual—he hoped Draco would take the hint and come up to his room soon.

 

He did, clad in his pyjamas as usual. Harry was still dressed.

 

“Hello, Harry,” he said. He cocked his head when Harry remained standing in the middle of the room. “Is something wrong?”

 

“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to freak out,” Harry said. He figured getting it over with quickly was best. “Remus knows.”

 

Draco’s already pale skin went ashen. “What? How? Oh, fuck.”

 

Harry could see the panic in Draco’s eyes and quickly walked over to him. Not letting Draco resist, he wrapped him in his arms and kissed him, hard and deep. Draco did try to pull away at first, pushing against Harry’s chest and turning his face away, but Harry just took his mouth again. Eventually Draco stopped fighting and started kissing him back. Harry relaxed a little. This was better.

 

He slowed the kiss and eased back just enough to look into Draco’s eyes. “He’s not going to tell anyone.”

 

Draco swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’m sure. He won’t give us away.”

 

Draco pulled away and started to pace the room. “How did he find out?”

 

Harry laughed a little, though it sounded strained. “He smelled us.”

 

“He…what?”

 

“He smelled us. The full moon’s coming up and apparently his sense of smell becomes rather keen around this time. He said we smelled of sex and each other.”

 

“Holy shit.” Harry wanted to smile at the fact that Draco had picked up that little expression from him, but it didn’t seem like the right time. “What did he say?”

 

“What do you think he said? He wanted to know what the hell we were thinking. He said we’re taking a huge risk. I told him we both knew that.”

 

“Is he pissed off at you? At me?”

 

“Did he seem pissed off at dinner?”

 

“No,” Draco said slowly. “He didn’t. Why isn’t he?”

 

Harry shrugged. “We talked. I told him…I told him I was happy with the way things are between us, and that we both understood the risks. Remus and I think of each other as family—he said if I was happy, he wouldn’t try to stand in our way or anything.”

 

Harry was leaving out some rather important details regarding his talk with Remus, but he wasn’t ready to have that conversation with Draco yet—maybe ever.

 

“I see.” Draco let out a deep breath. “So now what?”

 

Harry had thought about this long and hard. “That’s up to you. Do you want to continue this…thing…between us, or has it become too big a risk for you to take? I’ll be honest—I don’t want this to end, but if you aren’t comfortable with it continuing, it won’t. And I won’t hold it against you.”

 

Draco looked at him steadily. “You’re still all right with the risk we’re taking?”

 

Harry nodded. “I am. But you have to be, too.”

 

Draco wanted to scream. He didn’t want this to end either. Not at all. But if one person had figured it out, wasn’t it only a matter of time before someone else did as well?

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. “I don’t want this to end either. I don’t want to—” He almost said “lose you” but held it back. “I don’t want to end this. But I’m not sure we should continue.”

 

Harry tried not to let the sharp pain he felt at Draco’s words show on his face. “So what do you want to do?”

 

“I want to think about it,” Draco finally decided. It hurt to even say those words but he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew what people would think if they found out he and Harry had any sort of relationship at all. They’d think he was using Harry, and they’d be vicious in their reaction. They would pressure Harry to stay away from him, and Draco wasn’t sure how he would handle that now that Harry meant something to him. Meant more than he should. “I’m sorry, but I need to think about it.”

 

“I understand,” Harry said. And he did. He didn’t like it, but he understood it. He hesitated. Now what?

 

“Do you want to stay or…?”

 

“I should probably go,” Draco said. “It would probably be best.”

 

“If you think so.” Harry watched Draco. “Will you let me kiss you?”

 

“I’m not saying this is…goodbye…or whatever,” Draco said quickly. “I just need some time to think.”

 

“I know. I understand, I really do. But will you let me kiss you?”

 

Draco smiled a little. “I really wish you would.”

 

Harry stepped forward again and took Draco’s face in his hands. He knew what he was about to do would tell Draco this wasn’t only about sex for him anymore, but he realised he didn’t care. He was going to follow his instincts on this one.

 

He pressed his lips to Draco’s and kissed him very softly. He changed the angle and began kissing him slowly, deeply. Draco’s hands fisted in his shirt, and he gradually took the kiss deeper. He teased the tongue that twined with his own and felt Draco’s sigh. Harry felt warmth spread within him, and it seemed to come from his heart. Whatever he was feeling, Harry put it all into that kiss.

 

He didn’t want it to ever end, but he eventually pulled back, very slowly, placing gentle final kisses to Draco’s lips as he did.

 

Draco slowly opened his eyes to find Harry watching him. Just watching him. He’d never been kissed like that in his life. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wet his lips and tried again.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said softly, his eyes roaming Draco’s face as he stroked it softly with his thumb. “But I think it’s something else we both need to think about.”

 

Draco swallowed hard and nodded. He took one step back, then two. “I have to go,” he said, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that fact.

 

“Go on, then. We can talk tomorrow.”

 

Draco nodded, and with one final look over his shoulder, left the room.

 

Harry just stood there for a moment, trying to let his heart settle. He finally sank down on his bed and rested his head in his hands. He was in love with Draco Malfoy. And now his heart was in Draco’s very cautious hands.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

They got the word about the attack in the middle of the night. Harry hadn’t even known it was possible, but McGonagall sent her Patronus through the Floo to wake Remus, who then woke Harry and Draco.

 

The attack was in Little Whinging.

 

Since Harry was quite familiar with the location, he Side-Along Apparated first Remus and then Draco to the town. They’d been told the attack was happening on Privet Drive; Dumbledore apparently had some kind of monitoring spell on the Dursleys’ home, and he’d been alerted. McGonagall had contacted Mrs Figg down the way, and she had verified the attack. They landed in her back garden.

 

“Hurry, quickly, into the house,” Mrs Figg hissed at them, waving them toward the back door. “The others are inside.”

 

They dashed in to find Dumbledore and Moody explaining the strategy they’d devised to several Order members. They stopped when they saw Harry.

 

“They’re trying to get into the Dursleys’ home, Harry,” Dumbledore said without preamble. “After the incident in the Department of Mysteries, I felt it best to provide protection for the Dursleys during the time you are not in residence. The spells I used bar entry to magical folk in general are holding for now, but we need to stop the attack before they fall.”

 

Harry had felt a deep sense of dread when he’d heard the attack was in Little Whinging, but now he grew cold. He couldn’t stand the Dursleys. But he didn’t want them to die.

 

“What’s the plan?” he asked, shoving away the fear he felt. He didn’t have time for fear.

 

After they’d heard the general plan, Dumbledore pulled Harry aside.

 

“You and I are the only two who can get through the protective wards without taking them down, though even we can’t Apparate in without removing the Anti-Apparition spell that is also in place. You’re honestly too important to risk, even for this, but I thought it only right to give you the choice to come with me. They are your relatives.”

 

“You’re going in?” Harry asked in disbelief.

 

“Yes. I can put up additional wards from the inside, and if the Death Eaters should break through before I’ve gotten your relatives out, I can help protect them.”

 

“Get them out? How are you going to get them out?”

 

Dumbledore smiled a little. “Using Draco’s Apparition Hoops.”

 

The light finally dawned for Harry. “You can take them through the Anti-Disapparition wards on the house without leaving the house unprotected,” he breathed. Squaring his shoulders, he looked Dumbledore in the eye. “I’m going with you.”

 

“I suspected you’d say that,” Dumbledore said, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Do you have your Invisibility Cloak?”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“You’ll be using that along with a Disillusionment Charm and your glamour to sneak in the back door. That will give you as much protection against being seen or recognised as possible.”

 

“How are you going to get in?”

 

Dumbledore gave him a mysterious little smile. “I have my own way of making myself invisible.”

 

Harry gaped a little but then shook it off. “What’s the strategy for getting in? Wait—why don’t we just use the Hoops to go in?”

 

“As Draco explained it to me, one must be very, very precise when Apparating through the Hoops. I am not familiar with the inside of your relatives’ home and they may have made changes since you were last there. We can’t risk Apparating in inside a table or being splinched.” Dumbledore eyes twinkled a little despite the circumstances. “That would be very uncomfortable.”

 

“Good point. Aunt Petunia’s always redecorating, so who knows what it looks like in there now. Very well. What’s the sneaking in plan then?”

 

“Kingsley and Tonks will be leading a small group whose job it is to protect us while we go in. They’ll provide a distraction and engage the Death Eaters near the back door. As you heard, Moody will be in charge of coordinating the others in challenging the other Death Eaters at the front of the house.”

 

“When do we leave?”

 

“In just a minute. I need to let Kingsley and Tonks know you’re coming with me. Then I’m showing you the exact Apparition point we’re going to bring your relatives to when we take them out.”

 

The moment he saw Dumbledore leave Harry’s side, Draco moved in. “What the fuck’s going on?” he hissed.

 

“I’m going into the Dursleys’ house with Dumbledore. We’re going to—”

 

“The hell you are!” Draco interrupted him, his eyes firing. “That’s insane. You’ll be killed. You’ll both be killed. How can you even get through the wards?”

 

“We’re the only two keyed into the wards, so we can actually get into the house. We’re going to sneak in invisibly—I’ve got my Cloak, and Dumbledore is using some spell, I guess. Then we’re using your Apparition Hoops to get the Dursleys out of there.”

 

“That Cloak doesn’t protect you from getting hit.” Draco knew he sounded panicky but couldn’t seem to control his fear, which was reaching up somewhere from the pit of his belly to strangle in his throat.

 

“No, it doesn’t. I can put up a shield wandlessly—you know I can—and still remain completely under the Cloak. Invisible.”

 

“You’re mad. They’re not worth it. They’re not worth the risk you’ll be taking with your life. They treated you like shit; who fucking cares if they die? Please don’t do this. Let Dumbledore go alone.” Draco threw pride aside and begged. “Please don’t do this, Harry.”

 

Harry wanted to kiss Draco, kiss away his fear, but he couldn’t. Instead he said, “I have to do this, Draco. You know I do.”

 

“Dammit!” Draco spun away then spun back. “You’d better come back.”

 

Harry grinned. He thought they both needed it. “I will. I’m pretty hard to kill.”

 

Draco didn’t seem to appreciate the humour, and Harry could tell he was holding on to control by the thinnest of threads. Suddenly Harry didn’t care what anyone else thought. If going into battle wasn’t the time to kiss the man you loved, when was?

 

“Fuck the world,” he muttered and pulled Draco into a short, but very passionate, kiss. He was quite happy Draco didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

 

“I have to go.” Harry’s eyes searched Draco’s face, and he thought he saw what he wanted, what he needed, to see there. It gave him courage, and it gave him hope. Taking the biggest leap of his life, he whispered, “I love you. Stay safe.”

 

Without waiting for any kind of response, Harry dashed off to join Dumbledore, who was waiting for him by the back door.

 

Draco just stood there, shell-shocked. Harry loved him?

 

Then a very angry-looking Ron Weasley accosted him and snapped him back to his surroundings. Hermione Granger was right behind Weasley, looking absolutely stunned. Great. Just what he needed.

 

Weasley gave Draco a shove. “Did you just _kiss_ Harry?” he demanded.

 

“You have eyes,” Draco drawled, regaining his composure. “I believe he kissed me. Though I did kiss him back.”

 

“What the fuck?” Weasley shouted, drawing everyone’s eyes to the little trio. “I’m going to kill you, Malfoy. I don’t know what you’ve done to Harry, but I’m gonna find out and then I’m going to kill you!”

 

Hermione stepped in between Draco and Ron, giving her boyfriend a little push backwards. “This isn’t the time or place,” she snapped. “Death Eater attack, remember?”

 

She turned to Draco. “Where’s Harry going?” she demanded.

 

“He’s going with Dumbledore to get his fucking Muggle relatives out of their fucking house,” he bit out, glad for the change of subject but more furious than ever with Harry for taking this risk for a bunch of useless Muggles who’d treated him horribly. He couldn’t lose Harry now. Not ever.

 

“What?” Granger and Weasley both gasped. Draco sighed and quickly began to explain what Harry had told him. Just as he finished, they were called away. The Order was ready to fight back.

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

Sneaking up on the Death Eaters surrounding the house Harry had grown up in wasn’t easy. Most of the Death Eaters were concentrated at the front of the house, but there were a few in the back. Harry wasn’t exactly sure where Dumbledore was but knew he was nearby.

 

He moved as swiftly as he dared toward the loose circle of Death Eaters ringing the back garden. Then he heard Kingsley shout and the fighting began. Keeping himself shielded, he trotted towards the back wall of the house then began to creep along it towards the back door, ducking low to avoid any stray spells that might get shot in his direction.

 

Harry reached the door first—at least he assumed he had, as he hadn’t seen it open for Dumbledore to go in, but the man could make himself invisible, so maybe he could walk through doors, too. Crouching low on the steps, he whispered, _“Alohomora.”_

 

The door opened a crack, and holding his breath, he strengthened his shield. Opening the door as little as possible, he slipped inside. Before he could close the door behind him, he felt Dumbledore pushing his way inside.

 

Dumbledore appeared before him, and surprisingly the man was smiling. Looking right at Harry, who was still covered with the Cloak and completely invisible, he said, “Nicely done, Harry.”

 

Harry removed his Cloak and the Disillusionment spell, and then his glamour—it would probably be best if his relatives recognised him. They could hear Petunia wailing in the living room. Crouching low to avoid the windows, they silently made their way in.

 

Dudley was the first to see them. “Potter?” he exclaimed.

 

Vernon and Petunia turned to look at them, identical expressions of stunned surprise on their faces.

 

“Shh!” Harry hushed them. He didn’t think any Death Eaters could hear them, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “We’re here to get you out of here.”

 

Vernon opened his mouth, and Harry shot him a glare. “Don’t say a word. If you want to live, do exactly as we tell you, no questions. Do you understand me?”

 

They nodded, all three looking absolutely terrified. Harry wondered if they were just as scared of however Harry planned to get them out as they were of the Death Eaters outside.

 

“Are you ready, Harry?”

 

“As I’ll ever be.” He looked at his aunt. “You’re going with Dumbledore.” Petunia was the smallest and could squeeze in better with the larger man.

 

Harry looked at Vernon and Dudley. Draco had actually improved his new Hoops by making them able to be expanded to a larger size (he said he’d thought of it because he’d had such a time getting both himself and Harry inside the original one), but Harry still wasn’t sure he was going to fit in the Hoop with either his uncle or his cousin. Good thing he was pretty slender.

 

“Dudley, you’re coming with me first.” He looked at Vernon. “I’ll be back for you.”

 

Vernon’s normally ruddy complexion paled. “You’re…you’re leaving me here? Alone?”

 

“For just a few minutes.” He set the Hoop on the floor and stepped inside. “Dudley, get inside the Hoop with me. Vernon, stand exactly where you are and don’t move. No matter what.”

 

Clad only in striped pyjamas, Dudley looked at Harry with both fear and doubt. “What is it going to do to me?”

 

“I said no questions,” Harry snapped impatiently. “If you prefer to stay here, I’m quite happy to leave you.”

 

That got Dudley moving. He somehow squeezed inside the Hoop, which was expanded to its largest size. They were squashed so tightly together Harry could hardly breathe. There was no way he could reach down and pull the Hoop up around their waists, so he used a bit of magic to move it in place.

 

Now came the hard part: Apparating while keeping their bodies precisely within the Hoop. Draco had explained the process to him, and Harry hoped to hell he could do it. He saw Dumbledore and Petunia wink out of sight and knew he had to get going.

 

“Hang on,” he warned Dudley. ‘ _Destination, Determination, Deliberation,’_ Harry thought and then they were gone.

 

They landed in the exact spot Dumbledore had assigned him, and if Harry could have breathed, he would have given a huge sigh of relief. Petunia was standing with Dumbledore, sheet white. Harry could see Dumbledore was holding her arm—he probably thought she was going to faint. Dudley’s eyes were popping out of his head, and his mouth was working like a guppy’s. Harry wasted no time manoeuvring the Hoop down and shoving Dudley out.

 

“Stay here. I’m going back for your father.” With a quick nod to Dumbledore, he concentrated very hard again and appeared back in the Dursleys’ drawing room.

 

Vernon leapt back when he saw Harry appear out of thin air. He was probably still in shock from seeing his wife and son disappear _into_ thin air.

 

Harry could see the bright lights of spells and hear the noise outside the house. He jumped when he heard a window shatter; the wards had fallen.

 

“In the Hoop,” he said tersely. Vernon scrambled to obey. Again, Harry was pressed more closely than he’d ever wanted to be to someone who’d made his childhood miserable. After getting the Hoop in place, he concentrated again and Disapparated.

 

“Vernon!” Petunia gasped when they landed on the patch of grass near the back of Mrs Figg’s garden.

 

Harry got the Hoop off and gladly pushed Vernon out of his way. He looked to Dumbledore. “The wards fell just as we left. What do we do now?”

 

Dumbledore lifted his wand into the air and sent a burst of gold stars high into the sky. They shot off in the direction of the Dursleys’ house.

 

“The signal to let them know we’re safely out,” he explained.

 

“Let’s get them inside,” Dumbledore said next. He looked at Harry with his eyes twinkling again. “Well done, Harry. Very well done.”

 

“You too, sir,” Harry said, herding the Dursleys toward the door. “Get going, don’t just stand there. In the house.” He smiled a little. Could he help it if he took a little bit of pleasure at ordering his relatives around?

 

Dumbledore followed Harry and the Dursleys in the house and found Mrs Figg waiting for them. Harry looked around for Draco but wasn’t surprised not to see him—he knew he was engaged in the battle. Now it was Harry’s turn to worry.

 

“Arabella!” Petunia exclaimed. “You’re…you’re…one of _them?_ ”

 

“Not exactly, I’m a Squib,” Mrs Figg replied, which cleared up exactly nothing for the Dursleys. Harry was tempted to laugh.

 

Mrs Figg offered the Dursleys seats at her kitchen table before starting to fix them some tea. Harry thought they looked like they could use something a lot stronger than tea.

 

“We must be going, Harry,” Dumbledore told him. “Unless you wish to stay here with your relatives…?”

 

It really said something about the way Harry felt about the Dursleys that he’d rather go fight Death Eaters than hang around with them. “I’m coming.” He quickly re-applied his glamour.

 

Not knowing the status of the battle and who might be where, they Apparated into the back yard of the Dursleys’ neighbours. The fight was still going strong.

 

Harry was relieved to see it looked like the Order and the Aurors were holding their own against the Death Eaters. Leaving Dumbledore to his own devices, he flung himself headlong into the fight, firing off a curse and a Stunner in rapid succession at an unsuspecting Death Eater and then promptly shielding himself as he kept moving.

 

He fought hard, and when it was called for, fought viciously. He didn’t hesitate to use a Dark curse when a normal spell wasn’t going to work. Harry allowed out some of that violence he’d discovered within himself and felt great satisfaction whenever he heard one of his enemies cry out in pain. These were Death Eaters—evil people who killed innocents and had tortured him relentlessly; he had no problem at all bringing the fight down to their level of cruelty. They deserved it.

 

He duelled and he shot out surprise spells to take down Death Eaters distracted by someone or something else. He was dimly aware of the fact that he was a much better duellist than the Death Eaters he faced and was grateful for his training. He startled a little the first time he heard a low explosion before remembering the twins’ new products. It seemed they had something new they were trying out.

 

When his scar exploded in pain, he knew Voldemort had arrived. Quickly throwing up his Occlumency shields as he ducked behind some hedges helped relieve the worst of the pain. He didn’t want to hide, but he didn’t know if his glamour would work against Voldemort. When he felt the glamour melt away, he was glad to be tucked away out of sight for the moment. Apparently Voldemort knew the same glamour-ending spell as Lucius Malfoy. His worry for Draco increased.

 

Harry had no idea what to do. Could this be it? The time he was destined to kill or be killed? He still didn’t have any way of guaranteeing Voldemort wouldn’t rise again if he simply used the Killing Curse against him. He didn’t feel ready, but he didn’t know if he’d ever really feel ready. What should he do? Should he reveal himself and fight? Harry’s hand clenched convulsively around his wand. He could do this. He just hoped he didn’t die doing this, because he wanted more time. More time with Draco. Peering out of the hedges, Harry jolted and a wash of cold panic trickled down his spine. There was no question now of what he would do. It was time to fight.

 

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

When Draco felt the glamour dissolve, he cursed. He didn’t know who had done it, but it didn’t matter. He ducked the Death Eater who’d been on his tail, using his wand to shoot out a spell that sent a serious electric jolt through its victim as he did. The scream told him his spell had hit its target, but he was still out in the open.

 

Shielding himself, he looked around for a place to hide. Then he heard an all-too-familiar voice call his name.

 

“Draco Malfoy,” Voldemort said in his hideously sibilant tone. Draco’s blood ran cold. He was dead. He knew he was dead. But he wasn’t going down without a fight.

 

He whirled to face the Dark Lord to whom he’d once falsely pledged his allegiance.

 

He saw Voldemort standing across the street, his red eyes bright under the cowl of his robe.

 

“Not just a traitor to me and your own family, but a blood traitor as well,” Voldemort said, lifting his spidery hand to stay the Death Eater who’d pointed his wand at Draco. Draco muttered the strongest shield spell he knew under his breath and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

 

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Voldemort said in a voice all the more chilling for its matter-of-factness. “Very slowly and very painfully. You’ll beg me for death, but I won’t give it. Death won’t come until your body simply gives out. A strong young wizard such as you can last an amazingly long time under torture. But then, you know this already. You witnessed Harry Potter’s time with me. Tell me, do your pathetic new friends know you tortured Potter?”

 

Draco said nothing. He simply kept himself prepared to strike or to defend.

 

“I imagine they don’t. If they did, you wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t tolerate filth like you. And neither will I.” Red eyes flashed malevolently. “Tell me, Draco, why did you betray me? You’ve never shown anything but hatred for Potter. Why would you help him escape?”

 

“Because he knows which side is going to win this war,” Draco heard someone say as he came up behind him. Oh, Merlin, no…

 

“Draco, get down,” he heard Harry whisper. Draco fell flat on the ground just as he heard Harry shout, _“Avada Kedavra!”_ and a jet of green light whizzed over his head.

 

Voldemort somehow avoided the curse, but the Death Eater standing next to him didn’t; he fell to the ground, dead.

 

“Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “There you are.” He lowered the hood of his robes, and Harry could clearly see the snake-like face that haunted his dreams. “Ready to die?”

 

Harry didn’t bother answering. He shot off first the cutting curse he’d used to kill the Death Eater at the earlier battle, then followed up with the Killing Curse again, hoping that if Voldemort shielded the cutting curse, he wouldn’t be fast enough to evade the next curse. Voldemort knocked the cutting curse aside with a shield, but nimbly stepped aside and avoided the blast of green light. Swearing, Harry dove to the side to avoid getting hit with a return spell.

 

Draco seized the opportunity to make his own attack. Soon he and Harry were both firing off spells at the Dark wizard. Voldemort, coward that he was, backed away and let his Death Eaters do most of the fighting for him. Harry took an extremely painful spell to the chest and fell flat on his back. Draco, acting quickly, shielded him and then cast _Finite._ The spell ended.

 

“Harry,” Draco said frantically, as he worked to shield them both.

 

“I’m all right,” Harry said breathlessly. He rolled over and erected his own shield and prepared to fire off another curse.

 

“Tom Riddle!” a voice boomed out. Harry gave a little sigh of relief. He had never been happier to see Albus Dumbledore in his life.

 

Voldemort took his focus away from Harry and Draco to turn in Dumbledore’s direction. Harry saw a powerful red shield appear around Voldemort, enclosing him completely. Coward.

 

Harry was kept busy enough with the Death Eaters still attacking him and Draco. He saw others moving to surround Dumbledore, though, and knew he needed to do something.

 

“We’ve got to help Dumbledore,” he said to Draco under the cover of the sounds of battle going on around him. “You go left, I’ll go right. Hopefully we can draw some of them away.”

 

Draco wasn’t very keen on splitting up from Harry, but he nodded. He heard Harry count three and then he broke to the left, running and dodging and shooting out spells as he ran pell-mell to try and lead some of the Death Eaters away from Dumbledore.

 

He’d just avoided a jet of violet light when he tripped over a body lying on the ground. A very bloody body.

 

Shielding himself quickly, he looked down to see who he’d tripped over. And found himself looking into Ron Weasley’s pain-filled eyes. Fuck.

 

He didn’t think; he just acted. He grabbed Weasley’s arm and Apparated them both to Mrs Figg’s backyard.

 

“Weasley,” he yelled the moment they landed. “Weasley, can you hear me?”

 

There was no response. Draco quickly checked and saw Weasley was still breathing. He had just passed out, probably from shock or blood loss.

 

For Harry’s sake, Draco was relieved the man was alive. Personally, he couldn’t care less if Weasley died. His life would certainly be simpler without Ron Weasley. But he knew Harry would be devastated if Weasley died, so Draco set about doing what he could to save him.

 

He Vanished the torn and bloody shirt and took a look at Weasley’s injuries: three deep, gaping gashes to the chest. Draco cursed and wished he knew some more powerful Healing spells. He pointed his wand at the worst cut and cast the basic one he did know as powerfully as he could. The wound didn’t close very much, but it did tighten up a little, and the blood flowing from it slowed a bit.

 

Acting instinctively, he ripped off his robes and pressed them to Weasley’s chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew putting pressure on a bleeding wound was important. But he couldn’t sit around holding his robes to Weasley’s chest; he had to get help, and Weasley wasn’t going to be able to hold them. Thinking quickly, he spelled the cloth in place and hoped it would be good enough.

 

Draco ran inside the house and was startled to see two enormous men and a very skinny woman sitting with Mrs Figg at her kitchen table. He shook off the surprise and demanded of Mrs Figg, “Is your fireplace hooked up to the Floo network?”

 

“Yes.” Mrs Figg jumped up and led him into her living room. She handed him a vase of Floo powder.

 

Draco threw the green powder into the flames and stuck in his head. “Hogwarts’ infirmary,” he shouted. In the back of his mind he was so worried about Harry he was almost sick.

 

It took a minute, but Madam Pomfrey finally appeared before him.

 

“Ron Weasley’s badly hurt and needs your help. Can you come?” Draco said, not bothering with any kind of greeting.

 

“I’ve already got several wounded here,” she said. “I can’t leave.”

 

“What I am supposed to do, just let him die?”

 

“He’s unable to Floo?”

 

Draco shook his head.

 

“Can you Apparate here with him?”

 

Draco had no idea if he could or not and wasn’t sure he was willing to risk his own life to save Weasley’s. “I’ve never Apparated that far before.”

 

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Describe the injury.”

 

Draco did so, as succinctly as possible, as well as the spell he’d already used on the injury.

 

“You did well. Listen carefully; I’m going to teach you a spell to heal it. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do at the moment.” She carefully explained a rather complicated spell and had Draco repeat it back to her three times.

 

“Good luck, Mr Malfoy,” she said.

 

Draco pulled his head out of the magical fire. Holy shit, he hoped he could do this right. He ran back outside to find Weasley. The first thing he did was check to see if he was still breathing—no point trying to heal a dead man.

 

Satisfied Weasley was still alive, Draco removed the balled up robes, noting distantly with distaste they were soaked with blood. He lifted his wand and pulled the spell and wand movements Pomfrey had taught him into his mind and cast. The first gash started to close. He repeated the spell twice more.

 

He was relieved to see the cuts were closing up quickly. Within a couple of minutes they were completely closed.

 

There wasn’t anything Draco could do for the blood loss that had probably caused Weasley to pass out. Weasley was covered in blood, and Draco realised some had transferred to his own clothes. Lovely. Not really knowing what else to do, and anxious to get back to the battle and find Harry, he levitated the unconscious Gryffindor inside and placed him on Mrs Figg’s sofa.

 

Suddenly inspired, he turned to Mrs Figg. “Floo Madam Pomfrey. Tell her the spell worked. She’ll know what you’re talking about. Ask her for some blood-replenishing potion and give it to Weasley. Force it down his throat if you have to. I have to go.”

 

With that, he ran back out the back door and Apparated to Privet Drive.

 

 

********************************************************************************

 

 

Harry had managed to draw a fair number of Death Eaters after him when he ran—which he hoped was good for Dumbledore because it _really_ sucked for him. As his mind raced, he cast spell after spell, the Darkest ones he knew, and from the screams he heard he knew he’d taken down at least three. He didn’t care if he’d killed them all. Still on the run, he Disillusioned himself.

 

Then he Apparated.

 

He landed on top of the street lamp he’d last seen Voldemort standing under. Harry saw the monster below him, wand poised as if to strike at Dumbledore at any moment. Hoping the red shield surrounding Voldemort didn’t withstand anything but magic, he leapt before he could talk himself out of his insane plan.

 

He punched out as he fell and caught Voldemort square on the shoulder; he’d been aiming for his face, but close enough. Voldemort stumbled back before falling flat on his bony arse. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Harry would have cracked up laughing at the stunned expression on Voldemort’s distorted face.

 

Harry hit the ground hard but rolled and leapt to his feet. Ending the Disillusionment spell, he pointed his wand at Voldemort and prepared to meet his destiny.

 

Voldemort Disapparated.

 

“Fuck!” Harry cursed. He whirled around to check his back and saw two Death Eaters staring at him in complete shock. He fired off two Stunners, sending them both crashing to the ground. He dove to the ground and shielded himself for the millionth time that night. When he rolled, he rolled smack into Dumbledore’s pointy-toed boots.

 

Looking up, he saw the man smiling down at him.

 

Looking around, Harry realised the Death Eaters were all Disapparating. He pushed himself up and gained his feet, wincing at a flash of pain in his leg.

 

“Is it over?” he asked, rather breathlessly.

 

“The fighting appears to be. We must see to the wounded and see who has been left behind to be handed off to the Aurors.” Those crystal eyes gazed at Harry with a look Harry couldn’t decipher. “Harry, my boy, I’ve been called crazy many times in my life, but I think you may well be crazier than even me.”

 

Harry laughed a little. “I suppose leaping on top of Voldemort that way was a little insane.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “I was referring to your apparent relationship with Draco Malfoy, but yes, jumping on top of a powerful Dark wizard from a street light might be categorised as crazy as well.”

 

Harry barked out a laugh. Dumbledore never failed to throw him off. “Yes, well, I guess I’m just crazy all around then.” He looked around again. “I need to find Draco.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure that is a priority for you. The others seem to be gathering in your relatives’ front yard. Let’s join them.”

 

Harry walked with Dumbledore. He was starting to feel the aches and pains that had been buried under adrenaline and wanted to collapse on the grass and just lie quietly for a very long time. But of course he couldn’t. As he walked, he scanned anxiously for Draco and his other friends.

 

Seeing quite a few redheads standing in the loose circle that had grouped together in front of the Dursleys’ house made him feel a little better. But what he desperately wanted to see was _blond_ hair.

 

Hermione ran up to him looking absolutely panicked. “Have you seen Ron?” she gasped. “No one can find him.”

 

Harry’s stomach dropped to his knees. Not Ron…

 

“We’ll keep looking,” he said with determination. “Have you checked ‘round back?”

 

Before Hermione could answer, Harry heard his name shouted, and despite his fear for Ron, great relief washed over him.

 

He turned as Draco raced up to him. Breathing heavily, Draco skidded to a halt right in front of Harry and then just stood staring at him, as if unsure what to do now that he’d found him.

 

Harry didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Draco and kissed him, hard. He didn’t care who saw or what any of them thought. Draco was alive and he was safe. That was what mattered to Harry.

 

Draco wound his hands into Harry’s hair and kissed him back with everything he had.

 

They didn’t kiss very long, both of them aware of where they were and the circumstances. Harry was vaguely aware that complete silence had fallen, and he knew they were being stared at, but he didn’t care.

 

Harry pulled back and ran his eyes over Draco. “Are you hurt? You’ve got some blood on you.” He reached out as if to check Draco’s body for injuries, but Draco stayed his hand.

 

“No, it’s not mine.” He looked at Hermione who was anxiously shifting from foot to foot. Draco wasn’t even sure if she’d noticed them kissing, she appeared so distraught. “If you’re looking for Weasley, he’s all right. He was hurt, but he’s been healed.”

 

Hermione’s spine seemed to vanish. Harry grabbed her before she collapsed. “Hermione?” he said in alarm.

 

“Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God,” she was mumbling over and over, tears streaming down her face.

 

Harry wrapped his arms around her and just held her while she sobbed. Mr and Mrs Weasley came rushing over, terror written all over their faces. Harry realised they’d interpreted Hermione’s reaction as bad news.

 

“Ron’s fine,” he said swiftly. “He was hurt, but Draco says he’s going to be ok.”

 

The relief on Ron’s parents’ faces was almost painful to see.

 

“Thank Merlin,” Mrs Weasley breathed. She turned to face her other children who seemed to be frozen in place back where the family had been gathered. “Ron’s all right!” she shouted joyfully.

 

Fred and George slapped each other’s backs before simultaneously grabbing Bill in a hug. Bill looked a bit startled, but he was grinning.

 

“Where is he?” Mrs Weasley asked. “Hogwarts?”

 

Harry looked to Draco.

 

“No, he’s at Mrs Figg’s house. He should probably be taken to Hogwarts as soon as possible though.”

 

Mrs Weasley’s eyes widened, and she grabbed her husband’s arm. “Arthur, hurry.”

 

Harry watched them race away and realised Hermione was trying to break free of his arms. He let her go and then lifted her face with his finger. “Are you ok?”

 

“I will be,” she sniffled. “I’m going with Mr and Mrs Weasley.” She dashed away.

 

That left Harry standing alone with Draco. He realised every eye was still on them and thought running after the Weasleys too might not be such a bad idea.

 

“A battle well fought, my friends,” Dumbledore said loudly, saving Harry and Draco from the stares. “But now we must begin the difficult work of seeing to the injured and the dead. I was just informed Kingsley was injured and has been taken to St Mungo’s, but he will recover. Tonks is working with the other Aurors to take the Death Eaters left behind into custody.

 

“I need those of you who are able to bring the wounded to Mrs Figg’s home so we can Floo them to either Hogwarts or St Mungo’s. If you are capable of Apparating directly to Hogwarts or the hospital, feel free to do so.” He paused. “I know it sounds callous, but leave the dead for now. We must take care of the living first.”

 

The group broke apart to follow Dumbledore’s orders. Gazing around the neighbourhood he knew so well, Harry noted the incongruousness of tidy lawns and gardens now strewn with bodies and spattered with blood. Sighing, he looked at Draco. “Shall we?” he asked.

 

Draco looked around the battleground with great distaste. “If we must.” As far as Draco was concerned, he’d done enough tending the wounded tonight.

 

But he didn’t say that. He simply sighed. “Let’s get this over with so we can go the hell home.”

 

They spread out, searching for people who needed help.

 

Draco took note of the dead as he scanned the area for injured people still in need of assistance. He saw quite a few Death Eaters he recognised, several of whom he knew had tortured Harry, and was grimly pleased. He saw a couple of Order members whose names he didn’t know, but he didn’t think they were any of the ones Harry was close to. There were also a couple of Aurors.

 

Eventually all the injured, which included Remus, Moody, Podmore, and a couple of others Harry knew, had been shipped off to Hogwarts or to St Mungo’s. Harry wasn’t sure about the others, but he knew Remus’ injuries weren’t that bad, a fact for which he was very grateful. Dumbledore turned to those gathered in Mrs Figg’s house.

 

“I have spoken with the Aurors, and they will handle the dead,” he said soberly. “For those of you with minor injuries, feel free to come to Hogwarts. We will meet tomorrow night—or I should more rightly say tonight, as dawn has broken—at Hogwarts. The rest of you may go home, with my great thanks for your service here this night.” He moved away to speak to Mrs Figg.

 

Harry turned to Draco. “Do you need to go to Hogwarts?”

 

“No, do you? I saw you limping a little.”

 

“It’s nothing. Let’s go home.”

 

Harry heard a throat clear behind him and turned. He was not thrilled to see his Aunt Petunia standing in the door of the living room.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

“What…what are we supposed to do now?” she asked hesitantly.

 

Harry shrugged. He really didn’t care what they did. “If I were you, I’d go to a hotel for a few days. There’s been some damage to your house.”

 

Harry turned back to Draco, ready to leave. He was really fucking tired, and all he wanted was a hot shower and to curl up in bed with Draco and sleep.

 

“Harry.”

 

He turned back to look at his aunt.

 

“What?” he asked, a bit impatiently.

 

Petunia looked at him nervously. “I—we—wanted to say thank you. Thank you for saving our lives.”

 

Harry nodded curtly. “You’re welcome. Goodbye, Aunt Petunia.”

 

Gesturing Draco along with him with a jerk of his head, Harry walked towards the door to go outside to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. He never looked back. He’d done what was right, and now he was done with the Dursleys.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

 

 

Harry didn’t bother to ask Draco where he was sleeping that night. He just pulled him into his room and led him to the shower. They kissed—just kissed, they were too tired to do much of anything else—and it was plenty for Draco. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of kissing Harry. They managed to clean up and then dried off and headed straight to bed.

 

Harry sat on the bed and held out his hand to Draco. “Please don’t tell me no tonight.”

 

Draco smiled. “Budge up, Potter, you’re in my way.”

 

Harry smiled back at Draco and slid across the bed to make room. Harry immediately pulled Draco against him and held him tightly. Draco sighed. He was crazy to feel this way, he knew he was, but he’d never been so content in his life.

 

When Draco woke the next morning, he was still in Harry’s arms.

 

He just watched Harry sleep for a while. You couldn’t call Harry classically handsome, he mused, but he was definitely good-looking, even with his hair standing on end as it currently was. At the moment, he couldn’t see Harry’s best feature—his eyes, their startling, intense green. Eyes that would watch Draco and make him feel impossible things.

 

What the hell were they doing, he wondered. How the hell had Draco Malfoy ended up in Harry Potter’s bed…and not just to get laid. He was there because he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Draco no longer thought he was falling in love with Harry—he knew he was already there. He knew the exact moment he’d fallen over the edge: when Harry had kissed him the night before, after he’d told Draco about Lupin knowing, and after Draco had told him he had to think about what to do. The kiss had been magic. Powerful magic.

 

Draco had known in that moment he didn’t need to think about continuing his relationship with Harry. He couldn’t have ended it. He’d left because he was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to handle his feelings. He hadn’t even been asleep when Lupin had knocked him up to tell him about the attack; he’d been lying in bed, trying to sort out how he felt about being in love. And not in love with just anyone—in love with Harry Potter.

 

He was a little surprised he could fall in love. It certainly hadn’t been anything he’d really expected to happen, especially when he was only seventeen. Oh, he’d known he’d marry one day, and ideally to someone he loved, but he’d never given it any significant thought. He didn’t have any difficulty recognising love, which was also surprising. He had no experience with it, but there was no doubt in his mind that what he felt for Harry was love.

 

He still didn’t know quite what to do with all the feelings inside him. He was a Malfoy, a Slytherin; deeper emotions were carefully controlled and rarely shown outside of family. _Potter_ had always caused some definite emotions to stir within Draco, though. He’d always felt rather intensely about Harry Potter. He still had the intense emotions; they were just very different from what they used to be. Draco wasn’t even sure how one really expressed emotions such as love. He really hoped Harry was better at it than he was—perhaps he could just follow his lead there.

 

Draco also didn’t know how they were going to handle the fact everyone knew they were together, but he realised he wasn’t nearly as worried about the fallout as he probably should be. Whatever happened, he would deal with it. _They_ would deal with it. It was fortunate he’d fallen in love with a man who held considerable power within their world. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

 

Draco lifted a hand and gently traced the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry stirred before opening sleepy green eyes. When he saw Draco, he smiled.

 

“’Morning,” he mumbled. “’Time is it?”

 

Draco shrugged a shoulder. “I have no idea. But it’s probably not still morning.”

 

“Hmm? Oh, right.” The events of the night before seemed to come back to Harry, and his eyes cleared. His gaze turned a bit nervous, and he sat up.

 

“Draco, I…I didn’t plan to kiss you in front of everybody the way I did last night. It just sort of happened. I know I broke our agreement and—”

 

Draco pulled Harry back down to lie beside him. “Harry…fuck the world.”

 

Harry laughed. “I think that train’s already left the station.” He sobered. “Draco, about what I said to you last night, after I kissed you…”

 

“If you dare try to take it back, I’ll kill you,” Draco warned, only half-kidding.

 

Harry let out a little sigh of relief. Feeling awkward and nervous, he looked down at his hands and fiddled with the sheet. “So I guess…I guess you’re all right with what I said.”

 

Draco leaned in and used his fingertips to lift Harry’s chin. Then he kissed Harry the same way Harry had kissed him the night before: long and slow and deep. He tried to show what he was feeling because he didn’t know if he had the words.

 

When Draco finally drew back, he watched Harry’s eyes open and was pleased to find them a bit glazed. He wet his lips and gathered up his courage.

 

“I love you too,” he said softly.

 

The only word Draco could think to use to describe the expression in Harry’s eyes was joy. It amazed him.

 

“You mean it?” Harry asked, reaching up to touch Draco’s face and looking as if he really couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

 

Draco chuckled. “Yes, I mean it. Even I’m not cruel enough to joke about something like that.”

 

Harry laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant…are you sure? Because…because I am. Sure, that is. Sure that I love you.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Draco said, smiling a little. He’d gotten a delicious little thrill when Harry had said the words again, and it made him feel incredibly soppy. But he really didn’t care. He could be soppy for a few minutes.

 

A huge grin spread across Harry’s face. “Wow. Holy shit. I’m in love with Draco Malfoy, and he’s in love with me.” He glanced around the room. “Are we positive the world hasn’t ended?”

 

Draco grinned back at him. “If it has, at least the house is still standing.”

 

“True.” He looked at Draco and gave him a playful little smile. “I suppose we should be checking in at Hogwarts to see how everyone is doing.”

 

Draco yanked the pillow from under Harry’s head and smacked him with it. “That’s not the first thing we’re doing.”

 

“Oh, really?” Harry drawled, fighting to keep a smile off his face even as he ran a finger down Draco’s chest. “What would be the first thing we’re doing? Eating breakfast?”

 

In response, Draco grabbed Harry and kissed him hard. Harry grabbed him back and pushed his tongue into Draco’s mouth, turning the kiss hot and needy.

 

Harry wanted his hands on every part of Draco’s body at once. He wanted his mouth on every part of him, too, but gladly settled for Draco’s mouth for the moment. Happiness sang within him, and he needed the man who’d given him that happiness. He tilted his head and devoured Draco, dragging Draco over on top of him and filling his hands with Draco’s very fine arse. Their already hard cocks pressed together, and Draco groaned into his mouth, turning Harry on even more.

 

“I want you in me,” Harry gasped and then resumed kissing Draco again before he could offer any sort of answer. His hands roamed, racing over the smooth warmth of Draco’s skin. Needing air again, he left Draco’s lips to take his own down Draco’s throat. “Don’t make me wait.”

 

“No waiting,” Draco agreed, arching his neck to allow Harry to drag his tongue down to his collarbone. Shuddering, he moaned, “What that does to me…”

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry realised they should probably be following up declarations of love by making love—taking their time, maybe putting some romance into it. But at this moment he needed Draco, needed to feel Draco inside him, on top of him, surrounding him. Maybe it was leftover intensity from the battle the night before, but the desire to have Draco was urgent inside him. They could take it slow later.

 

Harry ran one hand between the two of them and fondled both of their erections. “Need this in me,” he muttered, squeezing Draco’s gently. Draco rolled off him and reached for his wand on the nightstand. Harry flipped onto his stomach and raised his arse in the air. Draco felt his cock give a hard twitch at the sight and for a moment he just wanted to sit and stare and drool at the enticing view before him. When Harry made a noise of impatience, Draco gave his cock a hard squeeze in hopes of keeping himself in check then performed the cleansing spell on Harry quickly before spelling lube onto his fingers and warming it between his hands. He pushed two fingers inside Harry, and Harry sighed in pleasure. “That’s good. That’s very good. But your cock’s better.”

 

Draco chuckled. “Impatient little bugger, aren’t you? Just settle down a minute; I don’t care how big of a hurry you’re in, I’m not going to hurt you.” He smiled a bit wickedly as he worked his fingers in Harry’s arse. “Just enjoy this part—I am.”

 

Harry groaned when Draco added a third and began to fuck him with his fingers. Draco leaned over him and pulled Harry’s head back so he could feast on his neck. After a minute or so, Harry pushed himself down against Draco’s hand. “I’m ready, dammit.” He was more than ready.

 

Draco obviously agreed because within moments he was pressing inside Harry. Sensing Harry’s mood, he kept pushing forward in one deep thrust until he was fully seated within his lover’s body. He knew Harry wanted to _feel_ him.

 

Harry hissed as the slow steady thrust pushed farther and farther in. He relished the burn. “Take me hard,” he demanded.

 

Draco pulled back and then thrust back in. Harry groaned and clenched his hands on the pillow. “More. Just like that.”

 

More than happy to follow Harry’s order, Draco began pounding into Harry hard and fast. He panted as he watched his thick cock split Harry in two, watched that hole stretch and clench around him. When he heard Harry cry out, he knew he’d hit the spot inside Harry that drove him wild and tried his best to do it again and again.

 

When Draco hit his prostate, Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. There was nothing like that feeling in the world. The quick pistoning of Draco’s hips was driving him mad and closer and closer to orgasm. He began to stroke himself, matching Draco’s thrusts. He wanted to come, but he also didn’t want it to end.

 

Draco changed his position, pushing the upper half of Harry’s body to the mattress. He bent his knees and almost crouched over Harry as he started pumping in and out of Harry’s arse again. Harry seemed to like the new angle because he became more vocal in his encouragement.

 

Draco withdrew and pulled Harry over onto his back. He pushed Harry’s knees back and draped himself over Harry’s chest. Setting a slower pace, he leaned down and took Harry’s mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. His legs braced on Draco’s shoulders, Harry surrendered completely to the kiss, letting Draco take him under where it was dark and the well of pleasure bottomless.

 

When Draco broke the kiss and started stroking in and out of him harder and faster, Harry knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. A few more pulls on his cock had him coming so hard he saw stars. “Draco,” he gasped. “Draco. Draco.”

 

Draco thrust himself one last time into Harry and came. He felt like his climax rolled up from his toes all the way through his body to his cock. His groin spasmed against Harry’s body as he gasped and panted and called out Harry’s name.

 

When he finally came down from his high, Draco simply collapsed on top of Harry. Harry grunted but didn’t otherwise object. He wrapped his arms around Draco, and they both lay there, breathing heavily for several minutes.

 

Then Harry’s mouth was on Draco’s again, but it wasn’t hot or demanding. The kiss was slow again, almost dreamy, and Draco wanted to melt.

 

“I love you,” Harry whispered against his lips. “Merlin, I love you.”

 

Draco smiled and felt Harry smile too. “I love you,” he said.

 

Draco slid off of Harry but not out of his embrace. Side by side, they kissed and touched and murmured to each other, lost in their own little world where for just a little while, war didn’t exist.

 

 

*************************************************************************

 

 

They made love again before finally getting out of bed—and the only reason they got up then was because Harry’s stomach was growling. They showered again before trotting downstairs to see about fixing some kind of meal. It was lunchtime-ish.

 

They were both surprised to find Remus at the bottom of the stairs, obviously about to come up.

 

“Remus!” Harry exclaimed. “How are you?”

 

“I’m much better, thank you. I really wasn’t hurt all that badly.” He gave them both a knowing look and quirked his lips in a little smile. “You both look to be doing quite well. Fancy that.”

 

“We’re excellent!” Harry beamed and gave him a quick hug. “We’re also starving—want to join us?”

 

“No, thank you, I ate at Hogwarts. I’ve only just gotten here. I was going to go up, shower and change. I’m feeling a bit grungy.”

 

“All right, well, see you later then. I think I’ll probably go to Hogwarts after I eat, see how Ron is doing.”

 

Remus smiled. “He’s awake and doing fine. Madam Pomfrey says he’ll need to stay for a day or two, but he will make a full recovery.”

 

“Oh, good, I’m so glad to hear that. Well, time to eat.” He grinned and walked with Draco the rest of the way to the kitchen.

 

“I’m surprised he didn’t say anything,” Draco commented. “He seems to know we outed ourselves last night.”

 

Harry shrugged. “He knows. I’m glad he didn’t say anything though—I’m too hungry to get into some drawn-out conversation.”

 

They warmed up leftovers from dinner the night before and ate ravenously. Harry felt like he drank a gallon of water along with his meal—he was incredibly thirsty for some reason.

 

“You were engaged in some rather strenuous activity last night, what with fighting in a battle and all,” Draco said dryly. “That could explain your thirst.”

 

Harry leered at him a little. “I much prefer the strenuous activity I was engaged in this morning.”

 

Draco chuckled. “As do I. I’m getting rather sick of this war.”

 

“You and me both,” Harry agreed heartily. “Perhaps later on you could help me look for something to end Voldemort for good?”

 

“I’d be delighted. The sooner that arsehole is dead, the better.”

 

“Well, then we’ll do some research a little later. Do you want to come to Hogwarts with me?”

 

“No, thanks. I’ve had quite enough of injured people.”

 

“Yeah, I think we all have.” Harry stood and then leaned over and kissed Draco. He’d intended it to be a quick kiss, but it wound up becoming a rather lengthy snogging session, and Harry was tempted to have Draco right on the kitchen floor. Only knowing that Remus could come in at any minute stopped him.

 

“Draco, I—I have to go,” Harry protested in between kisses.

 

“Who’s stopping you?” Draco asked, pulling Harry’s mouth back to his again.

 

Harry laughed. “You are, that’s who. Let me go now. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.”

 

“Back in bed with me,” Draco told him after one final kiss. “So hurry.”

 

With the way Draco was looking at him, Harry hoped to make it the fastest trip to Hogwarts ever.

 

Tossing some Floo powder in the fire, he glanced back at Draco. “I love you,” he said. Then he grinned cheekily. “I just love saying that.”

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

If Harry hadn’t been so distracted by his snogfest with Draco, he might have thought about the fact he was about to see Ron for the first time since he’d kissed Draco rather publicly the night before—twice. Then he might have been better prepared when Ron started in on him the moment he approached his bed.

 

“Hey, mate, how are you—”

 

“Don’t ‘hey mate’ me,” Ron interrupted him, sitting up straighter from where he’d been reclining against the raised back of his bed. He was paler than usual but otherwise looked ok. Hermione was sitting by the bed in a chair.

 

“Ron, don’t, please,” Hermione pleaded. “Not here, not now.”

 

Ron ignored his girlfriend. “What was that with Malfoy yesterday?” he demanded. “Please tell me I was hallucinating and didn’t really see you _kiss_ Malfoy.” He made the word ‘kiss’ sound like a dirty word.

 

‘Well, fuck,’ Harry thought. ‘Here we go.’

 

He took a deep breath and ordered himself to be calm. “No, you weren’t hallucinating. I did kiss Draco.”

 

“Why the hell would you do that? What the fuck is going on here?” Ron’s voice was getting louder, and Harry was mortified to realise everyone in the infirmary could hear him.

 

“Keep it down, will you?” he hissed. “There’s no need for us to have this conversation loud enough for the entire wizarding world to hear.”

 

“Why so shy now?” Ron demanded. He’d lowered his voice a little but certainly wasn’t whispering. “You weren’t very shy about him having his tongue down your throat in front of dozens of people last night.”

 

“Ron!” Hermione said. “Stop this. You’re embarrassing Harry. And me.”

 

“Harry should be embarrassed,” Ron retorted. “What the hell is going on, Harry?”

 

Harry cleared his throat. “Draco and I are together. We’ve been involved for a few weeks now.”

 

“Together? Involved?” Harry wasn’t thrilled when Ron’s voice started to rise again. “You mean you’re _shagging_ Malfoy?!”

 

Harry finally thought to do what he should have done earlier: cast a privacy spell.

 

“Not that it’s really any of your damn business,” he replied through gritted teeth, “but yes, we’re sleeping together.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “What were you thinking, getting involved with Malfoy?”

 

“He was obviously thinking he was so desperate to get laid he was willing to shag a Death Eater!” Ron said, his voice rising with each word.

 

“He’s not a Death Eater!” Harry shouted. “And don’t you dare ever say anything like that again.”

 

Harry clenched his fists and reminded himself to stay calm. He inhaled sharply through his nose and then slowly blew it out. He had to keep in control of this situation.

 

“It’s not about getting laid,” he said tersely, keeping his voice low. A privacy spell didn’t keep people from seeing them, and he didn’t need to be shouting.

 

“What else could it be about?” Ron wanted to know.

 

Harry ran his tongue around the edges of his teeth and bit the bullet. “I’m in love with him. And he’s in love with me.”

 

Ron and Hermione just sat there for a moment, identical expressions of stunned disbelief on their faces.

 

“You’re in love with him?” Hermione whispered. “Harry, you can’t…how can you possibly be in love with him? Are you sure it isn’t just, well, lust?” She looked a little embarrassed saying the word.

 

“No,” Harry said firmly. “It’s not just lust. I want him, of course I do. But I love him, I truly do. I know this is a shock, and I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but it just sort of…happened. We certainly didn’t plan it. We just fell in love.”

 

“Plan it?” Ron’s eyes fired as he thought of something. “That’s it! He planned it. That fucking ferret has done something to you, Harry. A love potion, a spell, something. I’m going to find out what he’s done and then I’m going to kill him!”

 

“There’s no potion, no spell, Ron,” Harry snapped. “I’m just in love with him. Is it so impossible to believe I could be in love with someone?”

 

_“Someone,_ yes, you could be in love with _someone_. But not Malfoy. That’s impossible.”

 

Harry dragged a hand through his hair. “Believe what you want. You wanted to know what was going on, and I’ve told you. Draco and I are together. I love him. That’s not going to change no matter what you say.” He sighed and looked at them pleadingly. “You said you were willing to try and tolerate the two of us being friends. We’re just a little more than friends now. I love him. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

 

“Happy?” Ron yelled. “You want us to be _happy_ you’re fucking Malfoy? That you’re ‘in love’ with Malfoy? Happy?” Ron made sarcastic little air quotes when he said “in love” and snorted with disbelief.

 

“Yes,” Harry bit out. Ron’s comment about “fucking Malfoy” really pissed him off and he felt his shaky grip on his temper slip a few notches. “I’d like it if my two best friends could be happy I’ve found someone to be with, someone I can love, and who loves me in return.”

 

“Malfoy, capable of love?” Ron scoffed. “That’s a good one. I’m telling you, he’s done something illegal to you, dosed you with some potion.”

 

“There’s no damn potion!” Harry shouted, completely out of patience.

 

“Well, if it isn’t a potion causing you to act like this, you’ve just lost your fucking mind. It’s one thing to be friends with him. That’s bad enough. But in love with him? Are you such an idiot you really believe Malfoy loves you? You’ve gone soft in the head if you don’t see that he’s playing some kind of trick on you. Think with your brain instead of your—”

 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed urgently. “Don’t you dare say that!”

 

“I’ll say what I like when my friend is too stupid to know that Malfoy is using him!”

 

Stung by Ron’s harsh words, the tether on Harry’s temper snapped. “That’s enough! I’m not stupid, and Draco’s not using me for anything. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I’m in love with him. You’re just going to have to accept it. If you can’t—” Harry broke off.

 

“If I can’t…what? What, you’re going to stop being friends with me? With us?” Ron demanded, gesturing to Hermione.

 

“I’m sure that’s not what Harry meant,” Hermione said, looking at Harry rather desperately.

 

Harry didn’t know what she wanted him to say. He was too pissed off to think clearly. He clenched his teeth and tried to get a hold on his temper.

 

Ron took his lack of response the wrong way. “Are you serious?” he shouted at Harry. “You’d choose him over me? Over Hermione? You’d choose that fucking bastard Malfoy over your best friends?”

 

“I—”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Madam Pomfrey strode up to Ron’s bed, clearly furious. “I leave the room for ten minutes, and this is what happens! This is a hospital ward. There are people here who are injured and badly in need of rest—including you, Ronald Weasley. Lie back!”

 

Ron just continued to glare at Harry. “I thought you were an idiot for being friends with Malfoy, but this? You’ve lost you mind. The next time I see Malfoy, I’m gonna—”

 

“Quiet!” Madam Pomfrey said sharply. Harry had never heard her speak in such a tone. “If you say another word, I’ll Silence you myself!” She pointed her wand at Ron; she meant business.

 

Ron shut his mouth with an audible clack. “Fine,” he gritted out.

 

“Now, lie back,” she ordered. “You are still not fully recovered and do not need to be stirred up this way.”

 

She began straightening Ron’s sheets. “I’m ashamed of you, Ronald Weasley. I didn’t hear everything, but once I disrupted your privacy spell, I heard enough of what you were saying about Mr Malfoy. I would think you’d show a little more gratitude to the person who saved your life!”

 

Ron’s jaw dropped open. Harry knew his own expression was equally as stunned as Hermione’s.

 

“Saved my—what?”

 

“Draco saved Ron’s life?” Harry asked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

Madam Pomfrey surveyed their shocked faces and seemed to realise she’d dropped quite the bombshell. “Yes, Mr Malfoy saved Mr Weasley’s—Ron’s—life. I take it none of you knew.”

 

They all looked to Harry, who shook his head. “He never said a word.”

 

“Malfoy saved Ron?” Hermione asked.

 

“That’s completely impossible,” Ron said. “Malfoy wouldn’t lift a finger to help me.”

 

“He lifted more than his finger—he lifted his wand and healed those three rather deep gashes across your chest.”

 

Harry shook his head slowly. “I didn’t even know Draco knew any Healing magic.”

 

“He didn’t—at least not the kind needed to save Mr Weasley here.” She sighed as she directed her words to Ron. “Mr Malfoy—Draco—Flooed me the night of the battle. He said you were seriously injured and asked if I could come. I already had patients here at Hogwarts, so I couldn’t. He asked what he should do. After he described the wounds, I taught him a spell—a rather difficult one at that—for him to use on you. A few minutes later, I got another fire-call from Arabella Figg saying Draco had asked her to get blood-replenishing potions from me for her to give to you—Draco had healed you, but had already left to go back to the battle.”

 

She gave Ron a rather pointedly admonishing look. “Considering the number of potions I had to give you when you were finally brought to Hogwarts, it was lucky he did. You had lost a significant amount of blood.”

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “He really did save your life. Why didn’t he say anything?”

 

“You don’t remember any of this, Ron?” Hermione asked.

 

Ron shook his head. “I guess I was passed out.”

 

“You owe your life to that young man,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly. “You think about that the next time you feel to urge to say terrible things about him like you were a few minutes ago.”

 

Ron looked rather chastened. “I…I didn’t know…”

 

“Now, you have had plenty of excitement. You need to be resting.” She looked at Harry and Hermione. “I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”

 

Harry held up his hands. “I’m going. I have to talk to Draco. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me any of this.”

 

He looked first to Hermione and then to Ron. “You want to call me stupid, that’s fine. But I won’t tolerate you speaking about Draco again the way you were. Nothing you say to me will change the fact that I love him. You can accept it or not—that’s up to you.”

 

With that, he hurried away to Floo to Grimmauld Place.

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

A short search of the house had Harry finding Draco in the drawing room. Draco looked up when Harry came in and couldn’t figure out what the expression on Harry’s face meant. He was looking at him so strangely.

 

“What? Is something wrong at Hogwarts?”

 

“No, not really. I mean, I just rowed with Ron about the fact that we’re together—did you know he saw us kissing at Mrs Figg’s house?”

 

“Yes, we had a few words about it after you left.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Wasn’t much said.”

 

“Well, there was a lot said today,” Harry said dejectedly as he flopped down on the sofa next to Draco and rested his head against the back of it. He stared at the stained ceiling and sighed. “Ron is well and truly pissed off about us.”

 

“I can only imagine,” Draco said dryly. “What about Granger?”

 

“I’m not sure. Ron was yelling so much she really didn’t have a chance to say anything. She did ask me if I was sure it was love and not lust.” Harry grinned in spite of himself as he recalled her embarrassed expression. “I pretty much told her it was both.”

 

Draco snorted. “I’m sure that won them over.” He tilted his head and studied Harry. “This is really bothering you. Surely you expected something like this. What exactly did Weasley say?”

 

Harry waved the question aside. “Oh, that’s not really the important part of today’s visit.” He looked Draco in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you saved Ron’s life?”

 

“Oh. That.” Draco shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Not a big deal? Madam Pomfrey told us what you did for him. Learning that spell, getting him blood-replenishing potion—you saved his life! That’s a very big deal.”

 

“Seems like I wasted my time if the bastard’s going to treat you so poorly simply because we’re together. Doesn’t sound like he appreciates being saved very much.”

 

Harry shook his head. “Ron didn’t know. He has no memory of anything that happened. You should have seen his face when Pomfrey told us.”

 

Draco snickered. “Too bad we don’t have a Pensieve—I would have loved to have seen it.”

 

Harry smiled wryly. “To say he was stunned would be a huge understatement. But I don’t know the whole story. Madam Pomfrey only knew the part after you contacted her.”

 

“Not much more to tell. After we split up—and I didn’t like that little plan of yours at all, by the way—I was running and shooting off curses. Then I tripped over something—it was Weasley. He was covered in blood. He was looking right at me, so I knew he was alive. I guess he doesn’t remember that. I Apparated with him to Figg’s. I tried, but I couldn’t heal him myself, so I Flooed Pomfrey. I’m assuming she told you the rest.”

 

“Yes, she said she taught you a difficult spell, and you used it to save Ron. She said it was good you asked for the blood-replenishment potion because he still needed more when he got to Hogwarts—he’d lost a lot of blood.”

 

“Yes, it ruined a perfectly good set of robes.”

 

Harry laughed. “I’ll buy you some more.” He touched Draco’s face and said sincerely, “Thank you for saving him.”

 

“I’m starting to regret it. I want to know what he said to you that’s got you so upset. And don’t deny it, Potter, I can tell you are.”

 

Harry sighed and gave in. “Some of the things he said—he was really cruel. He said all sorts of nasty things about you—accused you of using some potion or spell on me that is causing me to think I’m in love with you. He seems to think you’re using me for some reason. What you could possibly be using me for, I haven’t the slightest, but that’s what he said. Very loudly. It was mortifying that everyone in the infirmary witnessed it.”

 

“Fucking bastard,” Draco said tightly, anger ignited. Harry might not understand why Weasley would think he was using Harry, but Draco knew that he probably wouldn’t be the only one thinking Draco was sucking up to Harry for his protection, for his power. “What else did he say?”

 

Harry shrugged. He was still so angry, but was trying to keep his cool. “He called me stupid. Thinks I’ve lost my mind. He actually sounded a little disgusted when he was ranting about how crazy I was to be ‘fucking Malfoy.’ He seems to think I’m incapable of knowing my own mind, my own feelings when it comes to you. When I asked them why they couldn’t just be happy for me, Ron basically laughed at me.”

 

Draco wanted to wring Weasley’s neck. How dare he say such things to Harry? Harry, who was supposedly his best friend?

 

“Dammit, Harry, why are you friends with him? Why are you friends with someone who treats you so badly? You can do so much better than Weasley as a friend.”

 

“I’m starting to wonder if we are still friends. Or even if I want to still be friends with him. I told him I wouldn’t tolerate him saying anything bad about you again.”

 

“What you shouldn’t be tolerating is how he treats _you_ ,” Draco pointed out furiously. “He’s supposedly _your_ friend. I don’t expect him to say nice things about me, but he shouldn’t be saying anything derogatory about you.”    

 

Harry took Draco’s hand. “You have to understand—I love you. From my perspective, that means if he’s saying horrible things about you, he’s saying the same things about me.”

 

“Even more reason to get rid of the arsehole,” Draco muttered.

 

Harry looked sad. “We have such a history. He was my first ever friend, and we’ve gone through so much together. I don’t want to lose that. But Ron has a…a block when it comes to you. He’s completely irrational. And if he continues to be unwilling to accept us together, I won’t be able to keep him as a friend.”

 

“Then it seems I did waste my time saving that worthless prick’s life.”

 

“No, you didn’t. Ron doesn’t deserve to die just because he’s angry with me.”

 

Draco snorted. “If you think I saved Weasley for his sake, you’re sorely mistaken.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Draco wished he hadn’t said anything—but he was just fed up with Weasley and how he treated Harry.

 

“I saved him for your sake,” Draco said reluctantly.

 

“For my sake?”

 

“Yes, for your sake. I knew what it would do to you if he died. For reasons I will never understand, you value Weasley. I didn’t want…I didn’t want you to go through grieving for him if he died—especially since he’s proven himself to be unworthy of being grieved.”

 

Harry sat and stared at Draco for a moment. He’d saved Ron in order to spare Harry pain? Was it any wonder Harry loved him?

 

“I…thank you. If he had died…yes, it would have hurt me greatly. So thank you for saving him.” He smiled a little. “You know, you’re becoming quite the saviour. First you saved me, now Ron. People are going to start calling you the hero of the wizarding world instead of me.”

 

Draco looked horrified. “Bite your tongue, Potter!”

 

Harry laughed. “Well, it was just so _nice_ of you to do it.”

 

“Har, har, very funny. I’m regretting it more by the minute,” Draco grumbled. “I’m not nice. And I’m certainly no saviour.”

 

“Perhaps an unlikely saviour,” Harry agreed. He slid closer to Draco and pulled him into a kiss. He trailed his lips across Draco’s cheek to his ear and breathed, “But you’re _my_ unlikely saviour.”

 

Draco shuddered at the feel of Harry’s warm breath wafting over his ear. He tilted his head to the side to encourage Harry’s exploration. Harry gladly complied, slowly taking his lips over Draco’s face and then down his throat.

 

“I want to make love with you,” Harry whispered against his skin. “Come upstairs with me. To our bed. Make love with me.”

 

Draco took Harry’s lips in a kiss that raised his blood pressure several notches. “I want you to make love _to_ me.”

 

Harry pulled back to see Draco’s face. “Do you?”

 

“Yes, I want to know what it’s like.”

 

“Well, then, no time like the present,” Harry said, grinning. He wanted to take his mind off his troubles with Ron, and this was definitely an excellent way to do it. He stood and held out a hand to Draco. “Our bed awaits.”

 

Draco liked the sound of “our” bed. He liked knowing Harry thought of it that way.

 

As if reading his mind, as they climbed the stairs, Harry said, “You know, you need to move your things over to my room. Then it will properly be _our_ room.”

 

“You’ll have to make space for my things.”

 

“We’ll bring in another wardrobe—better, levitate in the one you’re using now. That will save you the time of hauling it all over.”

 

Draco thought it sounded like a good plan. “We can do it after dinner.”

 

Harry closed the door of the bedroom behind them and put the privacy spells in place. “I’m not sure I’m letting you out of here for dinner. No, wait—I think I’m _having_ you for dinner.”

 

Draco smirked. “Then I’m having you for afters.”

 

Harry grinned and pulled Draco against him. “Sounds good to me.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Harry took Draco’s face in his hands and just let his eyes absorb it for a moment. The crystal grey of his eyes, the soft, pale lashes, the curve of his lips. Then he brushed his mouth softly over Draco’s. He used the tip of his tongue to gently pry Draco’s lips apart, then deepened the kiss just a whisper. Then another. He made himself keep it slow, taking his time to explore Draco’s mouth thoroughly, appreciating every taste, every texture. Holding Draco’s head in place and stroking his jaw with his thumbs, he took the kiss deeper a fraction at a time, until they were both completely lost in it.

 

Pleasure saturated him, enervated him. Draco felt as though every bone in his body was liquefying, every thought was melting from his mind. He’d never had anyone so completely focussed on him, never had anyone evoke such a flood of emotions. So this is what love felt like. He couldn’t think, but he could feel. Mixing in with the feelings of love and pleasure and simple happiness was the need to touch, to give back, so Draco ran his hands up Harry’s chest and started unbuttoning his shirt. When he had it open, he spread his hands on Harry’s chest and ran his fingers lightly through the scattering of hair he liked so much. He liked the texture, the crinkly softness. Harry hummed into his mouth, so he knew Harry liked what he was doing.

 

They walked themselves over to the bed, never really stopping kissing. They undressed each other slowly, piece by piece. There was no rush, no hurry. Hands glided, lips explored gently, bodies melded together.

 

Harry’s hands were in Draco’s hair; he loved how soft it was. He was kissing him again and could never tire of it. Pleasure built in layers, and the need to take it to the next stage grew within him. He slid slowly down Draco’s body, kissing and touching and caressing as he went. He took Draco’s balls in one hand and rolled them gently. Draco moaned. When Harry began to mouth at his cock, he groaned. When he began to suck it, Draco tossed his head against the pillow and mumbled things Harry couldn’t really hear but understood anyway.

 

“Harry,” he gasped, “I want you inside me when I come.”

 

Harry removed his mouth long enough to say, “I will be. When you come the second time.” He dragged his tongue up and down Draco’s shaft. “I want you completely relaxed for this. Just enjoy.”

 

Draco had no problem doing that. He felt the climax building inside him, bit by bit. After a slow steady climb, he felt himself crest and moaned Harry’s name. Then he simply melted.

 

Harry’s lips claimed his again, and Draco could feel the restrained passion. When Harry broke the kiss, he just lay there for a moment, boneless. He heard Harry whisper a spell. Then there was the slick sound of lube being warmed between his hands.

 

He opened his eyes to find Harry’s intense green eyes watching him. “That was amazing,” he said softly.

 

Harry gave him a little smile. “Good. Ready for more?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said, stretching a little. “I’d definitely say I’m relaxed.”

 

Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at Draco’s entrance and murmured the cleansing spell. Draco felt an odd little tingle spread within him.

 

“So that’s what that feels like,” he said lazily. “I’ve wondered.”

 

Harry used his slickened fingers to rub the tightly furled hole he was aching to get inside. “I want you to tell me if it hurts. It may feel a bit uncomfortable at first, and well, there might be a little pain, but it shouldn’t really hurt very long.”

 

Draco nodded. He was a little nervous about this. He knew how brilliant it felt to be inside Harry. From the way Harry responded when Draco took him, having Harry inside him was probably going to be just as good. But he was just a little leery about how it was all going to work.

 

Harry began to stretch him slowly, building from one finger to two, which is all they’d progressed to in the past. When he felt Draco was ready, he added a third finger and felt Draco tense up.

 

“Relax,” he said softly, soothingly. “Don’t tighten up.”

 

Draco exhaled and made himself release the tension in his muscles. Having three of Harry’s fingers inside him felt a little uncomfortable, and he was starting to wonder just how uncomfortable it might be when Harry put his much larger cock inside him. When Harry took his partially softened cock in his mouth again, Draco jumped a little. His eyes were closed, and he hadn’t been expecting it.

 

The delicious stimulation had the desired effect though: he relaxed again. And he realised he’d gotten used to the fingers inside him. Not just gotten used to them—he was enjoying them.

 

Harry worked him a little longer, with both his hand and his mouth. When he felt Draco was sufficiently loosened—and when he didn’t think he could stand the wait any longer—he withdrew his fingers and gave Draco’s now fully hard cock a last twirl with his tongue.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“You tell me,” Draco said wryly.

 

Harry grinned. “You are. I’m going to go slow, but you tell me if you need me to stop for second.”

 

Draco nodded, trying to clamp down on the nerves he felt building again. Harry braced himself over him and leaned down to kiss him. The temperature of the kiss grew slowly hotter, and when Harry finally ended it, Draco was panting for more.

 

Harry pressed himself against Draco’s entrance and pushed firmly to get past the first ring of muscles. Draco tensed a little but ordered himself to relax. Harry wasn’t going to do anything to hurt him. Once he got used to this, he was probably—hopefully—going to enjoy it.

 

Harry slowly slid deeper, pausing occasionally to let Draco adjust to the feeling of fullness and the stretching. Draco found the sensation to be unlike anything he’d ever felt before, but it didn’t really hurt. There’d been a quick flash of pain when Harry’d first entered him, and now there was a dull burning sensation, but overall it was just a bit strange. His breathing sped up a little more as Harry sank in deeper.

 

When he felt Harry’s groin press against him, he knew Harry was fully inside. Amazing.

 

“All right?”

 

“Yeah,” Draco said, a bit breathlessly. He felt a bit…twitchy. “But I need…something.”

 

“You need me to move,” Harry said, his smile slow and seductive. He suited actions to words and pulled back a bit. He watched Draco’s face as he slowly pushed back in. Draco arched his back at the feeling of Harry sliding inside him. Harry picked up the pace a little, and Draco’s breath caught. Now he felt pleasure. When Harry’s cock pulled back against his outermost ring of muscles, it shot little tendrils of heat up his spine. When he thrust back in, that heat spread further.

 

“Touch yourself,” Harry said and adjusted Draco’s legs a little to give himself a better angle. When Draco began to stroke himself and started saying things like “yes” and “so good” and “more,” Harry smiled. When Harry thrust inside again, a little harder than he had been, Draco gasped and arched up.

 

“Holy shit!” Draco cried.

 

Harry grinned. Hello, prostate. He withdrew and thrust again, quickening his pace. Draco writhed beneath him, dirty pleas for more and enthusiastic cries of pleasure falling from his mouth as his hand moved faster on his cock.

 

Harry sped up and began a steady rhythm of deep, hard thrusts. He felt his orgasm rising, that anticipatory tingle spreading out from his groin. He wanted Draco to come first, wanted to feel him clamp down around him, squeeze his climax from him. It had been a long time since he’d felt that.

 

“Come for me, Draco,” he said breathlessly. “I want to see you come. I want to feel it.”

 

“Sweet Merlin,” Draco groaned. “I’m close…oh…little more…”

 

Harry gave him more and within moments, Draco’s muscles contracted around him. Draco came with a shout, gouts of white fluid shooting high upon his chest. Harry’s neck corded as he threw back his head and emptied himself within Draco’s tight channel. His body jerked a little, and he bit out Draco’s name through teeth clenched together in ecstasy.

 

Draco’s orgasm shot through him like wildfire. His breath caught and for a moment he didn’t breathe at all. Then his breath whooshed out. “Oh yes,” he cried. “Yes, yes, oh fuck yes!”

 

The moment of extreme intensity slowly passed for both of them, and Harry lowered himself down to rest on top of Draco. He lazily ran open-mouthed kisses up and down Draco’s neck. Draco hummed in pleasure.

 

“Shit,” Harry sighed. “Holy fucking shit.”

 

Draco chuckled a little, causing Harry to bounce against him. “You can say that again.”

 

“Holy fucking shit,” Harry said obediently and made Draco laugh. Harry grunted as the laughter jarred him.

 

“Quit laughing, can’t you see I’m resting?” he mock-bitched.

 

“Slide over and rest next to me,” Draco said, wiggling a little. “You’re getting heavy.”

 

Remembering just in the nick of time, Harry slowly uncoupled them first. He saw Draco’s grimace and winced with him.

 

“Sore?”

 

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Just a bit.”

 

Harry leaned down and engaged Draco in a leisurely snog. After a few minutes, Harry shuffled around until he was lying comfortably next to Draco on his side, one arm draped across his chest.

 

“Are you going to make me ask?” Harry said.

 

“Ask what?” Draco said innocently.

 

Harry tweaked Draco’s nipple and he jumped. “Dammit, Potter.”

 

Harry grinned. “What did you think? Did you like bottoming?”

 

Draco pretended to think it over. “Well, it was nice enough.”

 

Harry affected a look of indignation. “Nice? I did all that work and all I get is ‘it was nice’?”

 

“Is ‘fucking nice’ better?” Draco asked, unable to hold back his grin.

 

“Better,” Harry grumbled.

 

Draco laughed. “Oh, like you don’t know it was bloody brilliant.”

 

Harry laughed with him. “Well, I certainly thought so.” He twisted a lock of Draco’s hair around his finger. “Do you have a preference now? Topping or bottoming?”

 

Draco moved a shoulder. “They’re both damn good. I can see why you don’t seem to mind doing either.”

 

“Yeah, I like it both ways. I guess we’ll just do whatever our mood dictates.”

 

They lay there for a while, absently stroking skin and placing random kisses on each other wherever they could reach.

 

Finally, Draco shifted a little. “I’m feeling very sticky. Shower?”

 

“Sure,” Harry said, trying to convince his body to move. He wasn’t very successful.

 

Draco rolled into him and kissed him, long and slow again.

 

“Mmmm, what was that for?” Harry asked when they separated.

 

“For making it good for me,” Draco said, smiling a little.

 

Harry smiled back at him. “My pleasure, as always.”

 

Draco sat up, but when he stood up, he winced. “Ow.”

 

“All right?” Harry asked in concern.

 

“Sore,” Draco said, looking back over his shoulder at Harry. “Can’t imagine why. Might it have something to do with your dick up my arse?”

 

“Probably,” Harry agreed, stifling a laugh. “I have some pain potion if you want it.”

 

“Let’s see how I feel after a shower,” Draco said. He did his best to walk normally, but knew he was a little stiff. He heard Harry make a poor attempt at disguising a laugh as a cough and shot him an evil glare. “Shut it. I seem to recall your gait not being so smooth a few weeks ago when we started doing this.”

 

“Oh, I remember,” Harry said, still trying to supress a smile. “But it was worth it.”

 

“It will be more worth it if you get your lazy arse out of bed and wash my back.”

 

Draco disappeared into the bathroom, and Harry hauled himself out of bed. If he knew Draco at all, the next time Harry bottomed, he’d be hearing all sorts of comments if he should take even one step that looked like he might be a little sore. Not that he really ever was anymore. Harry grinned. He may not be in love with a nice man, but he sure was entertaining.

 

 

******************************************************************

 

 

Harry wasn’t surprised the Great Hall felt silent when he and Draco arrived for the Order meeting that night. Remus had stayed behind—it was the first night of the full moon.

 

They stopped walking for a moment and looked at each other. Then Draco smirked. Harry laughed, and they continued walking toward the table, both of them with their heads held high.

 

Before they could reach the table, however, Molly Weasley came running up to them. She threw her arms around a very startled Draco and proceeded to crush him in a bear hug.

 

“Thank you, thank you! I’m so grateful! You can’t know how grateful I am. Thank you!”

 

Alarmed, Draco tilted his head back and looked down at the much shorter woman clinging to him and crying. What the fuck?

 

He looked to Harry a bit desperately. What was he supposed to do?

 

Harry grinned at him, and Draco shot him a dirty look. Harry just kept grinning.

 

“Potter!” Draco hissed. He looked pointedly down at Molly and jerked his head towards her.

 

“Just say you’re welcome,” Harry advised, still with a look of supreme amusement on his face at Draco’s obvious discomfort.

 

“Er, um, you’re welcome,” Draco said awkwardly to Molly.

 

“We owe you a debt that can never be repaid,” Molly said tearfully, finally letting go of Draco.

 

“No, no, no debt,” Draco said quickly. Molly just beamed at him anyway.

 

Then she completely mortified him by turning around and saying to the room at large: “Draco saved Ron’s life!”

 

The Order members, who’d been watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of curiosity and confusion, looked quite surprised and several of them demanded to know what had happened. Molly gave them a glowing but mercifully brief summary of Draco’s heroics.

 

People began chattering excitedly and then the clapping started. Draco had never been more mortified in his life. He was really, _really_ starting to regret saving Ron Weasley.

 

And Harry, the wanker, just stood there with that dopey grin on his face. He was absolutely no help.

 

He didn’t know what else to do, so he just sort of nodded to the Order members, who had thankfully started to settle down. Molly Weasley had moved away a little, much to Draco’s relief.

 

Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He’d never seen Draco so flustered in his life. And it was pretty damn funny. Of course he also thought Draco deserved the recognition, though he knew Draco would have preferred it if no one had ever known what he’d done.

 

“Let’s go sit down,” Harry said.

 

“I’m leaving,” Draco said, actually staring to turn toward the door.

 

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Harry said firmly. “You’ve just finally won over the rest of the Order. You’re not doing anything to mess that up.”

 

“I wasn’t concerned about winning them over,” Draco muttered. But he reluctantly followed Harry to the table. If anyone else tried hugging him, though, he didn’t care what anyone thought—he was hexing them.

 

Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, smiling at Draco. Draco was just thankful he didn’t say anything.

 

The only good thing that had come of this little display was that no one seemed to be looking at him and Harry with any looks of shock or disapproval anymore, as they had been when they’d first walked in. Draco supposed he should be grateful for small blessings.

 

After calling the meeting to order, Dumbledore once again said a few words in honour of the dead. A general discussion of the battle started. It was considered a solid win for their side since the Dursleys had been rescued, and they’d driven the Death Eaters—including Voldemort—away. Some people had seen Voldemort, so of course there was discussion of that as well. He rarely turned up at these battles, so speculation as to the reason for his appearance was rampant. The general consensus was that he’d hoped to find Harry there, seeing as how it was Harry’s family being attacked.

 

Harry didn’t really like this theory, but he unfortunately thought it was accurate. Draco didn’t like it either—did this mean Voldemort would be showing up more often in search of Harry?

 

“Speaking of the Dark Lord,” Snape drawled, getting everyone’s attention. “What I want to know is what possessed Potter to leap down upon him the way he did.” He smirked at Harry, obviously enjoying putting him on the spot.

 

“Leap down on him?” “What?” “What did you do, Harry?” Questions flew around the table, and everyone looked at Harry. Harry gave Snape a sour look.

 

“Yes, what did you do, Harry?” Draco asked, in an overly pleasant tone. Harry had the distinct impression Draco wasn’t very happy with him at the moment and probably wasn’t going to be any more thrilled once he found out what Harry had actually done.

 

Seeing as how he wasn’t going to get out of explaining, Harry cleared his throat. “Ah, well, we’ve often talked about the value of surprise attacks and catching the enemy off guard, so I thought I’d try it. I Disillusioned myself and then I Apparated on top of the street light Voldemort was standing under. Then I…jumped down on him.”

 

“You what?” Draco asked in complete disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

 

The rest of the Order’s comments indicated they felt the same way Draco did. There were expressions of stunned surprise and some of disapproval.

 

“What happened after you jumped on him, Harry?” Tonks asked, pitching her voice over the others’. This got everyone’s attention, and they quieted to hear what Harry would say.

 

Harry couldn’t help it; he grinned. “I knocked him on his ar—er, bum. The expression on his face was absolutely priceless.”

 

“You can joke about this?” Molly demanded, even as a few titters went around the table. Harry caught Fred and George exchange a glance and then break out into matching grins.

 

Harry looked around the table. “I know it’s not a joke, but just picture it in your heads for a moment—Voldemort crashing to the ground and the stunned expression on his face.”

 

A few more people obviously did, as there were some smiles and a few soft chuckles, including Dumbledore’s.

 

“To say Tom was surprised would definitely be an understatement,” he said. “I also think you gave him a good scare. He certainly wasn’t expecting it to happen.”

 

“I daresay you are right in that Potter scared him,” Snape agreed. “I’ve never seen him more livid. He was so angry he dismissed all of the Death Eaters the moment they returned following the battle without punishing anyone for the failure of harming the Dursleys.” He smiled a little, actually seeming pleased with Harry’s actions. “I believe you embarrassed him, Potter, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

 

A wide grin spread across Harry’s face. “Excellent,” he said with great satisfaction.

 

“The surprise of the…unusual…method of attack definitely worked in your favour this time,” Snape said.

 

“Exactly,” Harry said. “It was a sneak attack, and it almost worked. If the coward hadn’t Disapparated the second I pointed my wand at him, we might all be celebrating his demise right now.”

 

“You could have been killed,” Hermione said.

 

Harry looked at her seriously. “Any of us could have been killed in that battle last night or any other one. Some people have died. Yes, I used a rather different type of approach, but it wasn’t any more dangerous than duelling with Voldemort would have been. It was probably safer. He was completely unprepared and didn’t know how to react, other than by running away.

 

“You all know I have to confront him if we’re to win this war. I made my first attempt and it was almost successful. With any luck, when I face him again, I will be successful.”

 

Harry risked a glance at Draco and could tell he was pissed off. Oh, he was hiding it well, but Harry had learned to interpret his body language, and he knew he was in for it when they got back home. Ah, well—their first fight. It was bound to happen sooner or later, though Harry wished it could have been much later. They’d only really just gotten together as a couple. He could only hope the fight was brief, so they could set about having make-up sex. He’d at least enjoy that part.

 

“Only you, Harry,” Fred said in obvious admiration. “Only you would think to leap on a Dark Lord like some kind of avenging panther.”

 

“An invisible avenging panther,” George reminded him.

 

A few people laughed, and some of the tension was broken. Harry was grateful.

 

The meeting continued for a little while longer before finally breaking up. Several people approached Harry to talk about what he’d done and ask him how on earth he’d come up with the idea. Harry couldn’t answer that one—it had just popped into his head, and he’d run with it.

 

He saw Draco waiting for him by the door and sighed. Time to face the music.

 

Draco gave him a look when he approached. “Had enough of your fan club?” he sneered.

 

“Oh, shut it, Draco,” Harry said, a bit stung. “If we have to talk about this, let’s do it at home.”

 

“Oh, we’ll be talking about it, believe me,” Draco said darkly and led the way to the Floo the Order members used to come and go from meetings.

 

When they arrived in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, Harry went straight to the cold box wizards used instead of a refrigerator; he wanted a beer for this conversation. He offered one to Draco, but he shook his head.

 

Harry popped the cap and waited for Draco to light into him. He didn’t disappoint.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot for pulling a stunt like that.”

 

“I’ve been called an idiot quite a few times the past couple of days,” Harry returned coolly. “I find I’m growing rather tired of it.”

 

“Then stop acting like one,” Draco snapped.

 

“I don’t think I was. I took advantage of an opportunity to do what I have to do. I don’t have a choice in the matter. I have to face him. I have to defeat him. You know this.”

 

“But you don’t have to do it so recklessly,” Draco said. “And you don’t have to do it alone. What if Voldemort hadn’t Disapparated? What if he’d engaged you in a duel? What then?”

 

“I would have fought him.”

 

“Alone? With no backup, no help?”

 

“Dumbledore was there. I’d say he was pretty damn good backup.”

 

Draco considered this. “True enough. But I have the suspicion you’d have done the exact same thing if Dumbledore hadn’t been there. I’m right, aren’t I?”

 

Harry hesitated; he could try lying. He discarded the idea and decided to be honest. Draco wouldn’t let him get away with anything else, and he deserved the truth. “Yes. I would have.”

 

“Dammit, Harry. You can’t just attack the Dark Lord without a plan in place. Other than leaping on him, did you have any sort of plan in mind?”

 

Harry hadn’t and took a sip of his beer to stall for time. “My plan was to take him by surprise and kill him.”

 

“That’s it? No contingency plan, no alternatives? No support?”

 

“No,” Harry snapped. “I’m not sure how I’m meant to plan for something that is completely unpredictable. I didn’t even know Voldemort was going to be there. I don’t know the exact situation I’ll be in when I have to confront him again. I acted on instinct. My instincts usually serve me pretty well.”

 

“We haven’t found a way to ensure he’ll stay dead this time when you kill him. Did you even consider that you’d be taking a huge risk for something that might not even work?” Draco snapped back.

 

“I had to try!” Harry shouted. “We may never find a way to guarantee he can’t come back. There may _be_ no way. The Killing Curse may be sufficient. I won’t know if I don’t try.”

 

“Did you know you were going to try when you separated from me?” Draco asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Did you send me away on purpose?”

 

The light dawned, and Harry understood part of the reason Draco was so upset. He thought Harry had deliberately gotten rid of him.

 

“No,” he said firmly. “You have to believe me on that. I didn’t think of the plan until after we’d split up. I swear it to you.”

 

Draco looked slightly mollified. “Well, that’s something.”

 

“Draco, as much as the thought of you getting hurt makes my blood run cold, I’m not going to insult you by shoving you away in some misguided effort to protect you. If you’d been around when I had the idea, I would have told you. I would have used you as backup, as part of the plan in some way.”

 

Draco studied him for a moment. “Fine. I can accept that. But you also didn’t tell me about it afterwards. I want to know why you kept it from me. I want to know why I had to find out by surprise like everyone else at that meeting.”

 

Harry sighed. “I didn’t keep it from you deliberately. To be honest, I’d sort of forgotten about it.”

 

“Forgotten?” Draco asked in disbelief. “You forgot about jumping on Voldemort and trying to kill him?”  


“Well, yes,” Harry defended himself. “So much was happening after the battle. By the time we got home, we were exhausted, and I was too tired to think. Then this morning…we had much more important things to talk about. I was thinking about you, about us. Finding out you loved me drove every other thought out of my mind.”

 

Draco had to be honest and admit he understood where Harry was coming from there. He hadn’t been thinking of anything except Harry either.

 

“All right. I can’t really complain about that as I was rather caught up in the moment this morning as well. But after this morning…”

 

“I went to Hogwarts,” Harry reminded him. “I got into a huge fight with Ron and then I found out _you’d_ withheld something from _me,_ and we had to talk about that. Then we went to bed, which was a much more pleasurable way to spend time than rehashing yet another battle.”

 

Draco pursed his lips. “I wasn’t withholding what had happened with Weasley. I just didn’t think of it as being all that important. And…” he added grudgingly, “I was a bit distracted by what was going on with us.”

 

Harry arched a brow and took a swallow of his beer. “Does that make us even then?”

 

Draco glared at him. “You think this is about being even?”

 

“No, I think this is about you being as scared about what might happen to me as I am about what might happen to you,” Harry said, looking Draco straight in the eye. He saw Draco flinch a little and knew his words had hit home. “Do you know how terrified I was when I saw you facing Voldemort—alone?”

 

“That wasn’t by choice, believe me.”

 

“I know it wasn’t, but it was still happening, right in front of me. And I was scared, Draco. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I’d been scared when I felt Voldemort there. I’d hidden, trying to give myself some time to figure out what to do. I was scared, wondering if the time had come for me to kill or be killed. But what absolutely terrified me was seeing that monster standing there with his wand pointed at you.”

 

“So you decided to come out of hiding, and let him point his wand at you as well.”

 

“Yes, I did. I love you, Draco, and nothing on earth would have kept me from going to help you. You talked about backup before—you needed it then, and I provided it. I think you would have done the same for me.”

 

“Of course I would have,” Draco said, affronted. “What do you take me for?”

 

“What I’d like to take you to is bed,” Harry said, smiling a little. “But what I take you for is a strong, courageous, powerful wizard. A man strong enough and brave enough to love someone like me, who is always in danger. A man willing to risk his own life for me.”

 

“You’re the strong and courageous one. You’re crazy, but you’re courageous,” Draco said, smiling back a little. “Maybe you’re also contagious, because I certainly wouldn’t have risked my life for anyone before I fell in love with you.”

 

“But you did,” Harry said softly. “You did when you rescued me from that cellar.”

 

Draco blinked. “I…I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Draco couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about that—but with the way he felt about Harry now, it felt as though he’d always loved him.

 

Harry set his empty beer bottle on the countertop and walked to Draco. “I personally think it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made in your life, other than deciding to be with me,” he said, touching Draco’s face and smiling. Privately, Draco agreed with him. “Are we done fighting now?”

 

“I don’t know. Fighting with you reminded me of the good ol’ days,” Draco drawled, smirking.

 

Harry laughed in appreciation of Draco’s comment. “The one good thing about fighting now is we get to have make-up sex when we’re done. I don’t think that would have ever happened in the ‘good ol’ days.’”

 

Draco chuckled. “True.” He smiled slowly. “And I suppose you’re thinking we should have that make-up sex now?”

 

Harry leaned in and took Draco’s mouth in a hot, possessive kiss. Draco moaned and kissed him back, dragging him closer. He welcomed the heat that immediately spread inside him.

 

“Absolutely right now,” Harry said when they finally stopped snogging long enough to breathe. He pushed Draco back against the wall and started kissing him again, running his hands down the front of Draco’s robes. “I told you before I don’t like it when you wear these.”

 

“I’ll take them off as soon as we’re upstairs,” Draco promised. It wasn’t a hard promise to make; he wanted his skin against Harry’s.

 

Harry kissed and licked his way down Draco’s throat, giving Draco delicious little shivers. “We’re not going anywhere. I believe I said we were doing this now.” With that he bit down, not overly gently, just below Draco’s collarbone. Draco yelped a little at the surprise of it, but what was more surprising was the bolt of heat that shot straight to his groin.

 

That heat kept him from realising what Harry meant for a moment. “Wait a minute. You’re wanting to do this here? In the kitchen?”

 

“Yes. I want it right here, right now.” He squeezed Draco through the layers of frustrating cloth. “I think you do, too.”

 

“We can’t have sex in the kitchen,” Draco protested, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. Harry was rubbing him and sucking at his neck.

 

“Sure we can. I’ll show you.”

 

“But Lupin…”

 

“Is locked in his room,” Harry reminded him. “Any other excuses?” His hands had been busy unfastening Draco’s robes, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he yanked them off. Harry took Draco’s mouth in a kiss meant to tempt him into submission. The idea of having sex in the kitchen was turning him on for some reason, and Draco’s reluctance made the idea of it even more titillating.

 

He felt Draco’s hands pull at the hem of his T-shirt and smiled to himself. Looked like he was getting what he wanted.

 

He let go of Draco long enough to get the shirt over his head and then Draco’s over his. He went back to kissing Draco as he toed off his trainers and began to unbutton Draco’s trousers.

 

“Surely there’s a spell to get clothes off faster,” Harry muttered as he yanked Draco’s trousers and shorts down to his ankles. He dropped to his knees and took Draco in his mouth. Draco’s head banged back against the wall, but he didn’t feel it. Harry’s mouth felt absolutely brilliant, and he groaned as Harry worked him.

 

Harry ended the blowjob before Draco came. He wanted Draco in him when he came, and he wanted him _now._ He knew exactly how he wanted him, too. He stood up and ripped off his own remaining clothes.

 

Draco dragged him against him for another mind-melting kiss. Hands roamed skin, igniting little fires. Harry allowed himself to be devoured and let the hot lust rush through him. It was a heady feeling.

 

Breaking away from Draco when the need for more became too urgent, he said in a voice low with desire, “You’re going to fuck me now.” He reached out and shoved a chair away from the kitchen table. “You’re going to fuck me against this table.”

 

The idea of bending Harry over the table and taking him sent the blood rushing through Draco’s veins at top speed. He felt his dick throb as he watched Harry brace his arms on the top of the table and look over his shoulder at him. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded.

 

Draco had no idea. He stepped forward and roughly pushed Harry down against the table. He heard Harry inhale sharply and saw him shudder. He realised Harry wanted this—really, really wanted this. He determined to give Harry exactly what he was begging for: a hard fuck.

 

He kept one hand on the centre of Harry’s back, holding him in place as he worked quickly to prepare him. Harry was moaning and shifting restlessly under his hand. “That’s enough,” he said, sounding very much like a man on the edge of losing control. “I want to be tight. I want you to give it to me. I want you to give it to me _hard_.”

 

Harry’s legs were spread wide and his arse was thrust out in blatant invitation. It was an invitation Draco was eager to accept. He grasped Harry’s hips, lined himself up, and rammed himself inside.

 

Harry howled—it was the only word for it. For a second Draco thought he’d hurt him, and he froze until he felt Harry pushing back against him and babbling words like “Oh, God, yes” and “more.”

 

Draco gave him more. He set a hard, brutal pace, taking Harry with powerful strokes. His hands grasped Harry’s hips tightly, and he yanked Harry backwards into each of his thrusts. Harry’s hands scrabbled on the table until they found purchase on the opposite edge. His head hung down, and Draco could hear strings of expletives and cries of satisfaction falling in a continuous stream from his lips.

 

Harry had never been more turned on in his life. When Draco had slammed into him, it had _burned_ to be stretched so wide, so deep, so quickly—that flash of pain followed by the slowly fading burn was exactly what Harry had wanted. Why that little edge of violence turned him on so much at the moment, he had no idea. But he wanted it. He wanted to feel every inch of Draco deep inside him. The friction on the edges of his hole every time Draco pulled back was driving him mad. He knew he’d never been stretched wider and revelled in it. The head of Draco’s cock was sporadically slamming against his prostate, and he saw stars every time. Bright, brilliant stars that filled him with impossible heat and impossible, mind-blowing pleasure. And that pleasure went on and on and on.

 

“Harder,” he gasped. “More. Give it to me. I want it. I _need_ it.”

 

Draco didn’t think he could fuck Harry any harder, and a voice in the back of his head wondered a little at Harry’s desire for this—it was a side of him he’d never seen. But if Harry wanted more… He pulled out, lined up again, and slammed home as he yanked Harry back against him. Harry cried out and writhed beneath him.

 

“Yes…yes…yes…” Harry chanted every time Draco gave him one of those really good hard thrusts. He moaned and whimpered and clutched the table so hard he thought his fingers might break. And when one of those good, hard thrusts hit that little bundle of nerves…the burst of pleasure was insane.

 

Again and again Draco pounded into Harry. Then he felt Draco take hold of his cock, and he cried out again. It was too much, and his senses went into overload. “Oh, God,” he gasped, “Oh, God, yes. Yes, yes, yes, _yes!_ ”

 

Harry came so hard he thought he might pass out from the sheer power of it. His breath strangled in his throat, and he lost all awareness of the world around him. Ecstasy swamped him, and he simply drowned in it. He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and rode out the storm as Draco continued to fuck him through it.

 

After the way Harry had reacted when he’d fully withdrawn and then pushed back in, Draco started doing it every few thrusts. The way Harry’s hole would stretch so wide to swallow him…it was so fucking hot. When Harry came, it was only a few short thrusts later that Draco did, too. The way Harry clenched around him made it feel like his orgasm was ripped from him, and Draco gasped as the sensations of pleasure nearly overwhelmed him. “Fuck!” he groaned loudly. “Harry—oh, fuck.” He continued to mutter mindlessly as the wave of heat rolled through him, rolled over him. When he slowly came back to himself, he realised his legs were shaking.

 

Harry shook too as he gulped in deep lungfuls of air. Feeling the ache in his fingers, he released his death-grip on the table edge and rested the side of his face against the cool wood. He felt the weight of Draco’s body slumped over his and wondered how either of them was ever going to move again.

 

Eventually Draco stirred and pushed himself up off of Harry. As he did, his cock slid out of Harry with a squelching sound, and Harry grunted. Damn, he was already sore. Very sore. Wonderfully sore.

 

“All right?” Draco asked, his breath still uneven.

 

“Mmmm,” Harry hummed. “Never better.”

 

Draco chuckled softly behind him. “And you’ve never looked so debauched before either, I imagine.”

 

“There’s something to be said for being debauched,” Harry said, satisfaction soaking his voice. “I could drink an ocean of water right now.”  

 

Harry felt the cleansing spell and was glad the semen trickling down his leg was gone. A natural by-product of sex, but not one he particularly liked. When he finally stopped shaking, he slowly pushed himself up off the table, wincing a little as he did. Not only was his arse rather sore, but his back was stiff, and he figured he’d have some lovely bruises on his hipbones from the way they’d slammed into the table over and over. Not that he minded. It had been more than worth it.

 

Harry stretched as he managed to get himself fully upright. Despite the stiffness, he’d never felt more loose or relaxed in his life. When he looked around, he found Draco offering him a glass of water while he drank thirstily from his own.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said fervently. He gulped half the glass down in one swallow. He drank the rest a little more slowly before refilling it from the tap and drinking that one down as well.

 

“Nothing like hard sex to work up a thirst,” he said, smiling a little. He put the glass down and pulled Draco to him. “That was amazing. Beyond amazing. Thank you.” He kissed Draco, sliding his tongue into his mouth, and sighed when he felt Draco’s move against his own.

 

They snogged for several minutes before Draco finally pulled away and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m starting to feel a little odd standing around in the kitchen starkers.”

 

Harry laughed. “Odder than having sex on the kitchen table?”

 

“Well, I was rather caught up in that and wasn’t exactly thinking very much,” Draco pointed out. “I’m also getting cold.”

 

“I don’t think I can walk up four flights of stairs. We’re going to have to sleep down here.”

 

“I may have agreed to have sex in a kitchen, but I’m not sleeping in one,” Draco said firmly. “Let’s go to bed. I want to lie down.”

 

“Me too,” Harry admitted. “But you’re leading the way up the stairs.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Because I’m not listening to you laugh at me limping along like I know I’m going to do,” Harry said ruefully.

 

“Are you in pain?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Not really. I’m fine, don’t worry. It was totally worth a little discomfort.”

 

“Turn around,” Draco said, picking up his wand from the pile of clothes on the floor.

 

“Why?”

 

“I’m going to heal you.”

 

“You’re going to—no, you’re not.” For some reason the idea embarrassed Harry.

 

“Yes, I am. Now hold still.” Draco bent down and unceremoniously parted Harry’s cheeks and put his wand tip near his rather abused-looking hole. He cast the basic healing spell he knew, and the angry redness faded.

 

He felt Harry relax a little, but when he stood up, he was surprised to see how uncomfortable Harry looked. Then he realised something.

 

“You’re blushing!”

 

“No, I’m not,” Harry denied, though he feared he probably was.

 

“You are,” Draco laughed. “Why?”

 

“Because it’s…embarrassing, having you heal me there.”

 

“Harry, I’ve had both my fingers and my cock up your arse. How can you possibly be embarrassed when I simply healed you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said, flustered. “Forget it. Let’s go to bed.”

 

Draco chuckled. “All right. But I have to do something first.”

 

He turned and pointed his wand at the kitchen table. _“Scourgify!”_

 

Harry laughed. “Good idea,” he said and added one of his own to the floor. “It’s going to be hard to keep a straight face at breakfast tomorrow. I hope Remus has a bit of a lie in, so we don’t have to see him first thing.”

 

“Me too,” Draco agreed. “I can’t say I’m ever going to look at that table the same way again.”

 

“I’ll be looking at it rather fondly,” Harry said, grinning. He stooped to gather up clothing and noted his arse did feel much better.

 

They dragged themselves upstairs. Then they simply collapsed into bed. Harry pulled Draco against him and held him.

 

“I have to ask, Harry,” Draco said before they drifted off to sleep. “What was it about doing it in the kitchen that had you so incredibly turned on?”

 

“Oh,” Harry said. “It wasn’t really the kitchen that did it for me, though that was rather hot. It was being bent over and taken so hard from behind. It, uh, was a bit of a fantasy of mine.”

 

“Really?” Draco drawled, looking back over his shoulder at Harry to see a self-deprecating smile on his lover’s face.

 

“Yes, though in my fantasy, I was bent over a couch, not a table. But I didn’t mind the substitution at all. In fact, I fantasised about you doing it once.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Yes. I’ve enjoyed that fantasy many times, but after I saw you in the corridor that one time, after you’d showered, and you were only wearing that towel? Well, you sort of replaced the anonymous bloke who was usually fucking me. It wasn’t planned, it just sort of happened, but it was the first time I thought about you while I was getting myself off.”

 

Draco looked back over his shoulder at Harry again. “I like that story.”

 

Harry grinned. “I’m sure you do, seeing as you were the star.” He pulled Draco more tightly against him. “You can tell me one of your fantasies later, and we’ll see what we can do about making it reality. Right now I’m knackered. You wore me out.”

 

Draco snorted. “We wore each other out. It was rather intense.”

 

“Mmmm, yes, it was,” Harry said sleepily. “I liked it very, very much. Good night, love.”

 

With that, Harry dropped into sleep.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

 

 

Harry and Draco were fortunate that Remus did indeed sleep in and didn’t turn up for breakfast as neither of them could keep shit-eating grins off their faces the entire time they were in the kitchen. The moment they’d walked in, Draco had shoved Harry against the table and taken his mouth, opening it for a ruthless invasion that Harry welcomed. Harry had responded eagerly, the memory of what they’d done there the night before adding even more appeal to the kiss.

 

“As much as I’d like a repeat performance, we can’t right now,” Harry eventually said, his voice laced with a bit of regret.

 

“I know,” Draco said. “I just felt like reliving the moment a little.”

 

Harry grinned and began to set the table. “It’s your turn to cook.”

 

Draco smiled slyly. “Since I fulfilled one of your fantasies last night, I think you owe me breakfast.”

 

“Oh, no,” Harry said, putting the kettle on. “I’ll make the tea, but you skive off kitchen detail far too often. You’re cooking.”

 

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, though the grumbling was just for form. He really didn’t mind cooking that much, which surprised him greatly. He’d never considered cooking anything before moving to Grimmauld Place. He hadn’t really even understood the process and certainly none of the equipment necessary. He felt a little proud he was so proficient at the few meals he knew how to prepare now—at least he wasn’t scorching the eggs any more.

 

Draco sipped his tea as he made the food. Harry sat at the table and read him bits of the _Daily Prophet_ as he did. It suddenly occurred to Draco how domestic this all was. He wasn’t sure how well that thought sat with him.

 

“Of course the biggest news is still the battle,” Harry said, interrupting Draco’s thoughts. “The report’s not entirely accurate—shocker—but it does say ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ was there and that the attack was against my relatives.”

 

“Harry, can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Did you hesitate at all when Dumbledore suggested you go with him inside that house and rescue the arseholes who pretended to raise you? I realise you’re a much better person than I am and ultimately couldn’t have stood by and just let them die—unfortunately—but did it even occur to you to leave them to their fate? They certainly deserved it.” Realising what he was asking, he paused thoughtfully. “I guess that’s a rather personal question, isn’t it? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. “I don’t mind answering. You needn’t worry about asking me personal questions—I doubt it will happen, but if I ever really don’t want to answer, I won’t. As for the Dursleys…no, once I understood Dumbledore’s plan to use the Apparition Hoops, I didn’t hesitate. I may hate them, but I don’t think anyone deserves to die in this war. Well, excepting Voldemort and Death Eaters, naturally.”

 

Draco shook his head as he served breakfast. Harry continually amazed him.

 

“Though, now that I think about it, they did get quite a punishment that night. They absolutely detest magic, and there they were, surrounded by people using it to try and kill them.” Harry’s face lit up with mischief and he smiled gleefully. “Then they actually had magic done to them when we Apparated them out. You should have seen their faces when we landed behind Mrs Figg’s house. I thought Aunt Petunia was going to faint. And I did get to order them about a bit. I enjoyed that part.”

 

Draco chuckled. “Only you could find any enjoyment in going into a house being attacked by Death Eaters to save people you can’t stand.”

 

“Well, it was rather intense, of course. The sneaking in was actually the most dangerous part, I think. Once we were in the house, the Death Eaters couldn’t get in—well, they hadn’t yet. Oh!” he added as a thought popped into his head. “Did you know Dumbledore could make himself invisible?”

 

“You mean he Disillusioned himself?”

 

“No, truly invisible. You know you can see movement a little when someone’s Disillusioned, especially if you’re looking for it. Dumbledore pointed his wand at himself and just…vanished. For a moment, I thought he’d Apparated, because he was just gone. When we got into the house, he appeared out of thin air. And I swear he knew exactly where I was while I was still under the Cloak because he looked right at me when he spoke to me.”

 

Draco stared at him. “You can’t just make yourself invisible. That’s impossible.”

 

“He did,” Harry insisted. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. When we were discussing how to get into the house, he said I was to use my Cloak and be Disillusioned as well. When I asked what he was going to do, he sort of smiled mysteriously and said he had his own way of being invisible or something like that. His comment surprised me, but as I was rather focussed on the situation, I didn’t think too much of it, but when he actually did it…” Harry shook his head. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been more impressed by the man.”

 

“You’ve got to ask him how he did it,” Draco said, eyes gleaming. “You could learn how to do it yourself.”

 

“Dumbledore’s the most powerful wizard alive,” Harry scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “I imagine there are many things he can do that no one else can.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re entirely too humble, Harry. You’re one of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever seen, and you’re only seventeen. The older you get…you could rival Dumbledore. Even if you couldn’t cast the spell now, you could find out how to do it, and try again later when your power’s matured a bit more.”

Mug of tea halfway to his lips, Harry stared at Draco, expressions ranging from bafflement to confusion flitting across his face before settling on disbelief. He set the mug down slowly. “You’re serious. You think I could be as powerful as Dumbledore one day.”

 

“Yes, I do,” Draco said firmly. “Harry, maybe it’s because of how you grew up without knowing magic, or maybe it’s just because of who you are—it’s probably both. I can see you genuinely don’t recognise the fact that the magic you do is far stronger than anyone else’s.

 

“As Lupin was saying that one time, the way you pick up new spells, spells that require a lot of power, a lot of skill—like Dark magic—it’s not the norm. Wandless magic is not overly difficult for you. For Merlin’s sake, even the spontaneous magic you did as a child was fairly powerful. Casting spells that require a lot of power such as you and I have been doing during training, and as I know you’ve done in battle, uses significant energy. Most wizards would be weakened after casting one or two of those types of spells, if they could even cast them in the first place. You never are—you just keep going and going. You never show the slightest sign of being at all drained by the magic you’re doing. When you finish duelling, do you feel like your magic is weaker?”

 

Harry hesitated. It had never occurred to him that doing the magic he did would weaken other people. He felt like he was bragging, but he knew Draco wanted an honest answer. “No, I don’t. But, Draco, I’m not the only wizard who can duel and fight for a long time—all of us have been doing it during the battles. And the Death Eaters use Dark magic a lot, which you say takes a lot of power. Does that mean all of the Death Eaters are more powerful than the average wizard? I don’t think that can be true.”

 

“No, it’s not true. And I didn’t mean wizards in general didn’t have enough stamina, magically speaking, to fight for long periods of time, because they obviously can. I meant most wizards can’t continuously use the amount of power you do by casting both powerful spells and regular spells incredibly powerfully for any significant length of time. That holds true for both Light and Dark wizards.

 

“Let me give you an example: Dark magic, especially the Unforgivables, requires a lot of power. If all of the Death Eaters are more powerful than average, why don’t they just shoot off Killing Curses the entire time during battle, instead of using other spells?”

 

Harry blinked. He’d never thought about that. It would make sense for Death Eaters to be trying to kill as many of the enemy as possible, yet they didn’t. At least not with the Killing Curse. Come to think of it, the spells they cast weren’t always Dark, either. They used a lot of regular offensive magic, like Disarming and Stunning spells.

 

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Are you saying they don’t because they can’t?”

 

Draco nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If the Death Eaters tried to use too many Dark spells or tried just firing off Unforgivables instead of using the typical spells, they’d weaken themselves to the point they wouldn’t be able to fight any longer. Just as with all wizards, some of them—such as my father—are more powerful than others, so they can use more Dark magic, but most Death Eaters aren’t particularly powerful. They have to conserve their energy, as do most members of the Order.”

 

Harry took some time to think this over. Eventually, he said, “So you believe I’m powerful because I can keep using strong magic for a long period of time without exhausting myself?”

 

“That and the fact that you generally cast spells more powerfully than others, and you can cast some spells that other wizards never can because of the magical strength they require. When you Disarm someone, you don’t just pull their wand out of their hand—when you’re not holding back, you can send them flying. I’ve seen you do it. And difficult spells like _Krampfe Korper_ that require a lot of power—when I tried teaching that to the group, you were the only one who could do it at all. It didn’t take you much effort either, did it?”

 

“The spell that cramps up the entire body at once?” Harry shook his head. “No, it wasn’t difficult. I’d forgotten no one else but you could do it.”

 

“I’m not a humble person, and I’ll say I know I’m fairly powerful, certainly more powerful than the average wizard. It’s perhaps the only good thing I got from my father—he was very powerful. He wasn’t as powerful as you, though. I grew up in the wizarding world, Harry. I’ve met many wizards reputed to be strong, and not one of them could touch you. It’s difficult for me to admit this, but it’s become harder and harder for me to duel with you for long periods of time. I have to make a conscious effort to not expend all my energy too early on, and even then, by the end I’m exhausted, magically and physically.

 

“You won’t like hearing this, but you’re very special, Harry.”

 

Harry stared at Draco, feeling more than a bit overwhelmed by what he was saying. Could he really be that powerful? Remus had told him he was powerful, Ron had mentioned it, and certainly Draco had told him more than once. But he hadn’t really believed he was that different from anyone else. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d gradually started recognising that his power seemed stronger than the others he trained with. He’d actually been consciously holding back some during the group trainings. And he felt like his power had increased since he’d started training with Draco. But he’d mentally put himself on par with Draco. Now Draco was saying Harry was more powerful than he was—even significantly stronger.

 

“I…I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. “What you’ve said…it’s a lot to take in, and I’m finding it hard to believe. But…”

 

“But what?”

 

“I don’t think you’d lie to me, and you aren’t the type to exaggerate about something this serious. The problem I’m having is that I respect your opinion and your knowledge of magic, so I know I should trust your judgement on this, but I’m still finding that rather difficult to do.”

 

“Let me ask you this. You say you respect my opinion and my knowledge. If I were telling you all this about another wizard, would you trust my judgement?”

 

Harry didn’t have to think about his answer; he knew he would completely trust Draco’s opinion on the matter. Draco knew far more about the wizarding world and about magic and how to use it than he did. He’d seen all types of magic performed, both Light and Dark. And he wasn’t someone who’d say this kind of thing if he didn’t believe it completely—especially since he was admitting Harry was stronger than him.  

“I would,” Harry admitted slowly. “You know I would.”

 

“Then trust it now,” Draco replied, smiling a little. “Get a second opinion if you want—ask Lupin. Other than me, he’s probably the most familiar with your abilities. And I know he’d be honest with you—he respects you too much to tell you anything but the solid truth.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure he could ask anyone else about this—he’d feel like he was fishing for compliments or something. But if he did talk to someone about it, he’d feel most comfortable talking to Remus. Draco was right—Remus wouldn’t try to flatter him, he’d simply be honest.

 

“Maybe I will,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t know. I have to think about all this. It’s rather a lot to take in.”

 

“Seeing how this has obviously come as a surprise to you, despite the number of times you’ve been told, I imagine it is.” Draco cocked his head. “Since we seem to be in serious conversation mode, and what I’m wondering about is related in a way, can I ask you another question?”

 

Harry wasn’t sure if he was up to any more serious conversation but nodded anyway.

 

“You successfully cast the Killing Curse during the battle. It was your first time doing so, right?”

 

Harry’s brows lifted. He hadn’t known what Draco was going to ask, but it certainly wasn’t this. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it; he’d been avoiding even thinking about it. But he answered anyway. “Yes, it was. The first time I’d ever tried casting it.”

 

Draco nodded. “How did you feel? Was it difficult to do at all? Magically, emotionally, physically?”

 

Suddenly understanding what Draco had meant by saying his question related to the earlier conversation about Harry’s power, Harry thought about it before answering.

“Well, I’d say I was running on quite a bit of adrenaline at the time, but it wasn’t difficult to perform at all in a technical sense. It felt like any other Dark spell, I guess, in that I know it took more power than other spells. And I meant it, meant to kill when I cast it, which is why I was successful.

 

“Emotionally…I surprised myself a bit. I didn’t have to psych myself up for it like I thought I would. I didn’t hesitate to cast a spell that’s sole purpose is to kill. I just did it. I haven’t really had much time to think about it—haven’t really wanted to—but now that I am, it does bother me a bit.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

Harry gave Draco an exasperated look. “I _killed_ someone with that spell. As far as I know, he’s only the second person I’ve ever killed.”

 

“As far as you know?”

 

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable. “I was using a lot of Dark magic during the battle and used that cutting curse several times. I know I hit people. It’s possible I killed some of them.”

 

Draco nodded. “Yes, me too. Are you upset about killing again? About killing on purpose this time?”

 

Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth and worried it with his teeth. “I should be upset, shouldn’t I? It should be eating away at my conscience. But it hasn’t been. Remus told me he thought I had accepted the fact that I will have to kill in this war and that who I kill may include people other than Voldemort. I think he’s right. I’m not out to kill as many people as possible or anything, but if I have to kill, I will.”

 

“That’s a good attitude to have, especially since you know you will have to kill,” Draco agreed. “But I want you to tell me if something changes, and you start feeling badly about it. I don’t want you bottling it all up inside and letting it eat away at you, as you put it.”

 

“What about you? You said you didn’t know if any of the spells you used killed anyone but...”

 

Draco shrugged, but Harry didn’t think the motion was as casual as Draco would have liked.

 

“I guess I’m sort of like you. I know I’ve killed twice now, and I’ve accepted that. People die in war because people kill in war. I’d rather be the one doing the killing, if necessary, than the one doing the dying. I didn’t start this war; I’m just being forced to fight it due to my father. And…I guess now I’m fighting it for other reasons as well. So if I actually killed someone else during the battle...well, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.”

“All right. Now I’m worried about not being overly worried about having killed again, both deliberately and possibly, because I’m not losing sleep over it either.”

 

“Remember, as I just said, this is war, Harry. In war, people must do things they would normally never do. Feeling differently about doing it in a war situation than you would about doing it in the day-to-day scheme of things is natural.”

 

“I guess you’re right. I know this is war, but not everyone is out there killing Death Eaters. Some people are fighting without killing.”

 

“And some people _are_ killing. Harry, I know you saw the dead Death Eaters after the battle. Collectively, we killed over a dozen I think. You aren’t the only one using maximum force, so to speak. It’s not something people like to talk about, or admit to in the middle of an Order meeting, but I’m betting there were several people sitting at that table last night who’d killed. I know Shacklebolt did—I saw him.”

 

“He’s an Auror.”

 

“It doesn’t make any difference. Even Aurors aren’t supposed to use the Killing Curse.”

 

Harry shrugged. “True.”

 

At the mention of the Killing Curse, the thought that had started nagging at Harry ever since Draco had brought it up the first time popped back up. He chewed on his lip some more as he tried to decide if he wanted to mention it to Draco.

 

Draco noticed his preoccupation. “What is it? What are you thinking about?”

 

Harry met Draco’s gaze. As he stared into those grey eyes, he realised he could talk to Draco about this. Draco would understand, and he wouldn’t pass any kind of judgement. And Draco wouldn’t worry himself to death over it like Hermione and Ron would.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “In fifth year, at the Ministry when the Death Eaters were trying to get the prophecy, I was chasing Bellatrix after she’d…after she’d sent Sirius through The Veil. I tried to cast _Crucio_ on her.”

 

Draco’s brows lifted. “You used an Unforgivable? When you were fifteen?”

 

“Well, I tried to. It hurt her a little, but it didn’t really work the way the Cruciatus does when it’s properly cast.” An echo of hideous pain skated along his memories and his face twisted. “And we both know how it feels when it is.”

 

“I’m surprised she felt anything at all—another indication of your power.”

 

“She told me it didn’t work because I had to mean it. I hated her in that moment, hated her more than I’d ever hated anyone or anything in my life. I was angry enough, hated her enough, I thought I did mean it.”

 

“You obviously meant it enough that she felt something.”

 

“But if I meant it, if I felt that much hatred and rage and grief when I cast it, why wasn’t I completely successful? Do you think it’s because I was only fifteen?”

 

“Probably,” Draco said thoughtfully. “As a wizard ages, his power matures.”

 

“So in less than two years, my power has matured enough that I can cast the Killing Curse successfully the first time I try?”

 

Draco tapped his fingers on the table and thought for a minute. Harry wanted to know what had changed that allowed him to cast an Unforgivable now when he hadn’t been successful before, despite having been experiencing the kind of hatred and pain you would think would be enough to cast one successfully. Other than age, there was one major change in Harry’s life that stood out in bright, glowing letters.

 

“I think there’s another reason. And I think you already suspect what it is.”

 

Harry braced his elbows on the table and dug his fingers into his hair. “You think I’m able to truly mean it now because I was tortured. That being tortured gave me the hatred I need to truly mean it when I cast the Killing Curse.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Harry bashed his fist against the table. “ _Dammit!_ How the hell am I supposed to feel about that? How am I supposed to feel knowing that I now have enough hatred in me to kill just by saying two little words?” Angry, confused eyes met Draco’s. “I hadn’t thought about why I’d been _able_ to cast the Killing Curse successfully—I should have, but with everything else that’s been happening…I just didn’t. Maybe I was subconsciously avoiding thinking about it.

 

“I can cast Unforgivables now. I use Dark magic—I use it easily. I have enough hatred within me to kill on command. I could torture someone if I wanted to—if I have enough hatred in me to kill, I know I have enough hatred to do that. God, Draco, this isn’t who I ever wanted to be.” The anger drained away into misery. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

 

“Yes, you do.” In a gesture he wasn’t used to making outside of the bedroom, Draco reached out and took Harry’s hand. “You’re Harry Potter, a good man and a powerful wizard. You’re no longer innocent, Harry, but that doesn’t mean you are no longer good. You’ve said the torture changed you; of course it did. You’re still adjusting to those changes. You’re still learning about who you are now. It doesn’t make you bad. It doesn’t make you Dark.”

 

Harry sighed and turned his hand over under Draco’s and held it. He appreciated the gesture since he recognised it was a display of caring Draco wouldn’t normally make. “What if I don’t like what I learn about who I am now?”

 

“You learn to live with it, or you find a way to change it. Either way, it probably won’t be easy.

 

“Harry, I don’t think it’s only the effects of the torture that enable you to cast the Killing Curse. I think part of it is your power. You can’t get rid of either of those parts of you. It’s what you do with those parts of you that will matter.

 

“Tell me, do you always feel anger and hatred—enough of it you think you could cast the Killing Curse at will if you weren’t in a battle facing an evil Dark wizard who is the cause of your pain? Or in another dangerous war situation? Perhaps one in which you have to kill in self-defence?”

 

Harry gave this a moment’s thought. “I…I guess not. I don’t always feel the anger or the…the despair. It comes and goes. But when it comes, it’s…it’s overwhelming. It’s consuming.”

 

Draco tilted his head. “I’ll ask you again: if you weren’t feeling that anger at a specific moment, or you weren’t in battle, do you think you could cast the curse?”

 

“I…I just don’t know. I hope I couldn’t.”

 

“I don’t think you could. If someone simply pissed you off, not only wouldn’t you think to curse them, I’m not sure you could even perform the spell successfully. You have a temper, Harry; I’ve seen it. You’ve gotten angry many times in your life and will probably get angry many more times—probably at me,” he added ruefully, smiling a little.

 

Harry gave him a small smile in return. “Just as you’ll probably get angry with me.”

 

“Of course. People argue, people get angry. It won’t always cause you to feel the intensity of what you feel as a result of the torture. That’s why I don’t think you’re able to cast the Killing Curse outside of certain situations.” He held Harry’s gaze. “A Dark wizard can.”

 

When Harry looked away, he shook Harry’s hand impatiently. “Look at me.” After Harry reluctantly did so, Draco continued, “A Dark wizard, once they learn to cast an Unforgivable, it’s not difficult for them to do it again. They can and will do it at will, regardless of the situation, because they can always mean it. People like my aunt and my father and the Dark Lord don’t feel great hatred or the desperate need to kill every time they cast the Killing Curse or the Cruciatus. They simply have to mean it.”

 

He hesitated and stared down at their joined hands for a moment. Then he looked back at Harry. “I know this because I’m more of a Dark wizard than a Light one.”

 

“You aren’t,” Harry protested.

 

“I am. Not fully, but if you’re talking about being able to cast Unforgivables, to kill and torture at will, I’m Dark. I’ve done those things. You know I have.”

 

“You only did it because you had to. Not because you wanted to.”

 

“Which is why I said I’m not fully Dark. Harry, I didn’t need to work up feelings of anger or hatred to cast Unforgivables. I didn’t have to be in the middle of a battle with someone coming at me intending to kill me. I simply had to mean it. And I meant it because if I didn’t, something worse would happen to me.”

 

Harry didn’t know how to respond, but he honestly didn’t agree with Draco’s self-assessment. Draco continued speaking before he could figure out what to say. He made a mental note to bring it up later.

 

“When you cast the Killing Curse at Voldemort, you were able to mean it because of the pain and anger you feel for him. I don’t think you’d ever mean it enough to do it if you weren’t in a very specific type of situation.”

 

Harry took a moment to think about what Draco had said. It made sense. The only person he thought he could ever use the Killing Curse on was Voldemort…or possibly Bellatrix…or possibly another of the Death Eaters who’d tortured him. That was plenty of people, but outside of them, he didn’t think he could point his wand at someone and mean it enough to even say the words “ _Avada Kedavra”_.

 

“I think…I think you’re right. I don’t think I could kill just anyone. It’s still not a comfortable feeling to know there are a few select people I have the capability to deliberately kill. But I…it does make me feel a little better to think I couldn’t just torture or kill someone any time I wanted to. It makes me feel a little better to know I’m not…”

 

“Not a few steps away from becoming a Dark wizard?” Draco finished for him, arching a brow.

 

Harry blew out a breath. “Yeah. I mean, Hermione—and I think even Ron—were worried about me using Dark magic. Hermione even said that the combination of the kind of anger I felt and Dark magic was a dangerous one. They said they didn’t think I could become a Dark wizard, and I told them there was no way I could, that using a few Dark spells wasn’t going to turn me Dark, but being able to cast the Killing Curse…that’s more than just using a few Dark spells.”

 

“Of course it is. But it still doesn’t mean you’re becoming a Dark wizard or are even anywhere _near_ becoming one. Harry, I told you before. You’re too good a person to ever turn Dark. You may have changed, you may feel completely understandable anger and rage and pain because of your experiences, but that doesn’t mean you’re even capable of turning into a Dark wizard. Knowing you, I don’t even think it’s _possible_ for you to turn Dark. It’s just in such complete opposition to who you are.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I know so.”

 

“All right. But if you ever thought…”

 

“If I ever think you’re becoming Dark, I’ll tell you,” Draco assured him, with a bit of a chuckle. “But I honestly believe that’s not a conversation we’ll ever have.”

 

“All right.” Harry smiled, and it felt genuine. “Thank you.” Pulling at Draco’s hand to bring him closer, Harry kissed Draco, softly, slowly. “I love you.”

Draco wasn’t entirely comfortable yet saying the words, especially when they weren’t in bed, but he knew Harry liked hearing them, and after their conversation, might actually need to hear them. “I love you, too.”

 

Harry beamed at him, and Draco was glad he’d made the effort. He leaned in and kissed Harry again.

 

They were still snogging when Remus walked in.

 

“Er, good morning, you two.” He looked rather amused at having caught them at it.

 

They broke apart, and Harry decided he wouldn’t be embarrassed being seen kissing the man he loved. “Good morning. How are you feeling today? Are you all right?”

 

“I’m all right. A bit tired and a lot hungry, but I see I’ve missed breakfast.”

 

“Would you like me to make you something?”

 

“Hey!” Draco protested. “You’ll make him breakfast but not me?”

 

“I wouldn’t complain if I were you,” Harry pointed out. “It’s still technically your turn. I’m doing you a favour.”

 

Draco shut his mouth and smiled innocently.

 

Remus laughed at them. “No, but thank you, Harry. I can get it myself.” He started pulling out ingredients. “What did I miss at the meeting last night?”

 

Harry sighed as Draco smiled gleefully. It seemed now that Draco was over his fit of pique, he was looking forward to seeing Remus’ reaction to finding out about Harry’s little attack on Voldemort.

 

“Oh, not much,” he drawled slowly, relishing the look on Harry’s face. “Just a little story about how Harry leapt down on Voldemort from a street light.”

 

Remus turned around, shock on his face. “You _what?_ ” he asked Harry.

 

Harry gave Draco a petulant pout. “I’ll let you tell him. You’ll enjoy it more.”

 

“Oh, no,” Draco said, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I want to watch you squirm.”

 

“What happened?” Remus asked impatiently.

 

Harry told Remus what he’d done, and why he’d done it, emphasising the sneak attack element of his plan. Remus looked absolutely stunned by the time he’d finished.

 

“Well,” he said at last, “your methods certainly are unique. I doubt anyone else in the world would have done such a thing or even thought to.”

 

Harry shrugged. “The idea just popped into my head. With the exception of Voldemort Disapparating so I didn’t get to kill him, I think it went pretty well. I rather enjoyed knocking Snake-face on his arse.”

 

Remus’ lips twitched. “I’m sure you did. I should probably be scolding you for acting so rashly, but as I imagine you heard quite a bit of that at the meeting last night, I’ll just say I wish I had been there to see you do it.”

 

Harry laughed. “He looked so shocked I almost laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. Dumbledore and Snape think I scared him. Snape thinks I embarrassed him, too. I sincerely hope I did.”

 

Remus chuckled. “I do too.” He shook his head. “I must say, I’m dying to know the reaction to you two being together. I saw you kissing at Mrs Figg’s house and again after the battle—I was still there when it happened, and seeing everyone’s faces was quite amusing, to be perfectly honest. Was anything said?”

 

Harry grinned at Draco. Now it was Draco’s turn to squirm. “No, no, Draco took care of that potential problem. He did have a little help from Molly, though.”

 

“Molly?”

 

“Did you know Draco saved Ron’s life?”

 

Remus’ brows lifted. “No, I did not. How in Merlin’s name did that come about?”

 

Draco gave Harry a sour look when he chuckled.

 

“I found him during the battle,” Draco said shortly. “I healed him. End of story.”

 

“Oh, no, there’s much more to the story,” Harry disagreed, more than happy to tell this one. He proceeded to tell Remus the full tale.

 

“Well, I must say I’m very grateful to you, Draco. Losing Ron would have been quite a blow to a lot of us.”

 

Draco sighed. He still didn’t understand why so many people actually _liked_ Weasley.

 

“Molly is rather grateful, too,” Harry added. “She practically hugged Draco to death while crying all over him and then announcing to the Order what Draco had done for Ron.”

 

Remus grinned. “I’m sorry to have missed that. I take it that’s the reason you didn’t get much objection to your relationship?”

 

“We didn’t get any objection at all,” Harry said.

 

“You’re forgetting Weasley,” Draco reminded him, frowning. “He made quite the objection.”

 

“He was there?” Remus asked, surprised. “I thought he was still in the infirmary.”

 

“No, he wasn’t there. I went over to see him at Hogwarts earlier in the afternoon. We, uh, had a bit of a row when I told him and Hermione I was in love with Draco.”

 

Remus smiled to himself. It seemed Harry had made up his mind there. He’d suspected it when Harry had kissed Draco so publicly, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

 

“Surely Ron’s grateful to Draco for having saved his life. I’m surprised he’d be criticising the two of you after that.”

 

Harry shook his head. “He didn’t know at the time. None of us did. Draco failed to mention it,” he shot Draco a dry look, “and Ron had been unconscious. Madam Pomfrey filled us in after yelling at Ron for insulting Draco after he’d saved his life.”

 

“Ah,” Remus said, smiling a little. “Yet another expression I would have liked to have seen.”

 

Harry grinned. “It was something to see. I’ve never seen Ron look more completely gobsmacked. Of course, my expression was likely quite similar, seeing as how I didn’t know anything about it either.”

 

“We’ve already talked about this, and I think you declared us even,” Draco said, looking a little put out.

 

“True enough,” Harry agreed, inclining his head in acknowledgement of Draco’s point. Then he looked at Draco more seriously. “Ron owes you an apology and a very big thank you.”

 

“I don’t need either,” Draco said sharply. “You’re the one he needs to apologise to.”

 

“You’re right about that. I imagine we’ll talk after he’s released from the infirmary.” Harry looked a bit grim. “I guess I’ll find out then if we’re still to be friends.”

 

“Do you really think he’ll continue to object to Draco after he saved his life?”

 

“I honestly don’t know. Draco saved my life, and it didn’t seem to matter very much to Ron. Oh, he was happy I was alive, but he wasn’t particularly grateful to Draco for having done the rescuing, despite my pointing out he should be several times.”

 

Remus frowned. “Well, hopefully this will open his eyes to the fact you’ve changed, Draco. I certainly hope so.”

 

Draco shrugged. He didn’t care if Weasley’s opinion of him changed or not; he just wanted him to stop treating Harry so badly. That, or drop off the face of the earth.

 

“Well, unless there’s anything else I need to be caught up on about the meeting, I’ll be off to Hogwarts. I’d like to talk to Albus.”

 

“No, that’s pretty much it,” Harry said. “See you later.”

 

Remus used his wand to clean up his dishes before wishing them goodbye and Flooing away.

 

“What are we doing today?” Harry asked.

 

“I wish we could play Quidditch again,” Draco replied wistfully, looking out the window. “But it’s raining rather hard for that.”

 

“I’m not sure I could sit astride a broom anyway,” Harry said ruefully.

 

“Are you still hurting? You aren’t bleeding internally or anything, are you?”

 

“No, no, I’m fine. Just still a little bit sore—I’m much better this morning. It’s nothing, really. I just don’t fancy riding a broom at the moment.”

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have such rough sex again if it’s going to actually hurt you,” Draco said, though he didn’t look like he particularly liked the idea.

 

“Bite your tongue,” Harry said, laughing a little. “We certainly don’t need to be doing it every night, but I enjoyed that way too much last night to never do it again. I don’t care about being a little sore—it’s a good kind of sore, if you understand me. A little reminder of just how mind-blowing it was last night.”

 

Draco looked a little relieved, even though he’d been the one to suggest not doing it again. Last night had been very, very good.

 

Harry shot him a wicked little smile. “You’re bottoming tonight though.”

 

Draco gave him a matching smile in return. “If I must.”

 

 

***************************************************************************

 

 

Remus was alone in the kitchen a couple of days later, putting the dinner dishes away, when the Floo came to life. He leaned down to see Ron Weasley’s face.

 

“Hullo, Ron. How are you feeling? I take it you’re back home now?”

 

“Hi, Remus. I’m much better, thanks, and yeah, I’m back home.”

 

“Harry just went upstairs. Do you want that I should get him?”

 

“Er, I was wondering if it would be all right if I came through.”

 

“Of course,” Remus said, stepping back.

 

In a few moments, Ron spun into the fireplace and stepped out, brushing some soot off his shirt.

 

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” Remus said, shaking his hand.

 

“You too. I heard you were injured in the Little Whinging battle as well.”

 

“Only a small injury, I’m fine now. Harry is likely with Draco in the drawing room, if you’d like to go up.”

 

“Um, yeah, sure, all right. I’ll do that. Uh, see you later,” Ron said, looking very uncomfortable. Remus had a feeling Ron was about to eat a very large portion of crow.

 

Ron didn’t see anyone in the drawing room but knocked on the doorjamb of the pocket doors anyway. Harry’s head popped up over the back of the couch he’d been lying on.

 

“Oh. Uh, hello, Ron.” Harry was caught off guard by the surprise of seeing Ron and wasn’t sure what to say. He was still more than a little irritated with Ron—truth be told, he was angry and hurt. He wished fleetingly he’d had a moment to prepare himself for what was likely going to be yet another unpleasant, and probably rather tense, conversation. “I’m rather surprised to see you here, given what you said the last time I saw you.”

 

“Uh, er, yeah. About that. I, uh…well, actually, I’m here to see Malfoy,” Ron said, his eyes darting about the room as if was too uncomfortable to actually look directly at Harry. “Is he around?”

 

“Yes, he ran upstairs for a moment. He should be back down shortly.”

 

“Oh, ok.” Ron cleared his throat. “I need to talk to Malfoy first, but if it’s all right, I’d like to talk to you afterwards.”

 

“Ah, sure, I’ll be around.” Harry stood up and tried to smile a little. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

 

Ron’s smile looked forced, but at least he tried. “Right.”

 

“Listen, Ron,” Harry said. He figured he’d better make things clear from the start. He didn’t fancy having his furniture destroyed if wands were drawn. “I don’t get the impression you’re here to fight with Draco, but the two of you don’t exactly have the best track record. I won’t tolerate you starting anything.” He bit his lip. “Do I need to ask for your wand?”

 

Ron looked a little taken aback. “No, no, I’m not here to start anything. But, um, if you feel you need to take it…” He started to reach for his pocket.

 

The fact that Ron was willing to give over his wand was enough proof to satisfy Harry there wouldn’t be any fighting. He lifted his hand. “No, it’s not necessary. Your word is sufficient.”

 

He glanced toward the corridor and wondered what the hell could be keeping Draco. How long did it take to pee? “I think I’ll go see where Draco is. I’ll just stay upstairs to give you some privacy.”

 

Ron nodded.

 

Harry disappeared upstairs and found Draco studying himself critically in the bathroom mirror.

 

“I need a haircut,” he said when he saw Harry. “So do you.”

 

“It’ll have to wait,” Harry said dryly. “Ron’s downstairs and he wants to see you.”

 

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s in the mirror. “Me?”

 

“Yeah, you. Though he does want to talk to me after he talks to you.”

 

“Lovely.”

 

“Draco…”

 

“Don’t tell me to play nice, Potter. Has he apologised to you?”

 

“No. But that doesn’t mean I want the two of you fighting.”

 

“I don’t plan on fighting him. I just don’t particularly have any desire to see him.”

 

“You know he’s here to thank you,” Harry pointed out. “Just let him do it and get it over with so you can go back to hating each other in peace.”

 

Draco’s lips twitched. “Funny. Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Just don’t be expecting me to be introducing you to my new best friend Ron Weasley later tonight.”

 

Harry laughed. “Not hardly.”

 

Draco started to walk past Harry out of the bathroom, but Harry took his arm and leaned in to kiss him. “For luck,” he said, eyes twinkling.

 

“He’s the one who’s going to need luck if I don’t like what he has to say,” Draco muttered under his breath. Harry heard him and hid a smile, but didn’t comment. He knew Draco was just grumpy about the situation.

 

Draco made his way downstairs and entered the drawing room. Ron was standing in the centre of the room, waiting for him. It didn’t bother Draco at all to see he looked quite uncomfortable.

 

“Weasley.”

 

“Malfoy.” Ron cleared his throat. “I’m here because I want to thank you for saving my life.” It came out in a bit of a rush, as if he wanted to get it over with. “I don’t really understand why you did it, but I’m grateful. I really don’t know how to thank you except to say I’m in your debt.”

 

Draco studied Ron. “Magically speaking, you are, of course. I’d personally rather you weren’t, but a life debt exists whether or not either of us wish it to.” He smiled thinly. “But rest assured, I’ll keep it mind for the future.”

 

Ron just nodded, though Draco could see it cost him not to snap at him.

 

“You mentioned gratitude as well. If you really want to show your gratitude, there is one thing you can do.”

 

“Name it,” Ron said.

 

“Talk to Harry. Resolve this situation between you. I personally don’t care if the two of you are ever friends again; to be perfectly honest, my life would be much more comfortable if you weren’t, but that decision isn’t up to me. Harry chooses his own friends. No one tells him who he should or shouldn’t be friends with.”

 

Draco smiled a little as he saw that little dig hit home.

 

“If you tell Harry I said this I’ll call you a liar, but you hurt him with the things you said to him. He wouldn’t admit it in a hundred years, but I saw him after he got home from Hogwarts after seeing you, and I know you did. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s done nothing to deserve the way you’ve been treating him. Just because he befriended and then fell in love with someone you hate doesn’t mean you get to shout at him and insult him.”

 

“I know that,” Ron said. “I’ll be telling Harry that after we’re done here.”

 

“Good,” Draco said and hoped Harry made Weasley grovel, though he knew he wouldn’t. “You also need to decide if you can tolerate the fact that Harry and I are together. If you can stand to be in the same room with me on a regular basis because I won’t be leaving just to make you more comfortable should you come over. I’m not going anywhere. I’m with Harry, and that’s not going to change.

 

“If you don’t think you can deal with the fact that we’re together, do the right thing and tell him so. End your friendship. It will hurt him greatly, but it will hurt him more if you continue to torment him and insult me to his face just because he’s seeing me.”

 

Draco gave Ron a very cool look. His next words carried a not-so-veiled threat. “I won’t tolerate that happening.” Draco arched a brow. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

Ron inhaled deeply and released it. “Very.”

 

“Good. If you and Harry remain friends, I can and will be civil to you—for Harry’s sake. I will expect the same courtesy from you.” He paused and lifted a brow. “Are we done here?”

 

“I don’t understand what Harry sees in you, but the fact that you’re standing up for him shows me you actually do care for him. It’s been hard for me to believe you truly did. That you were capable of it.”

 

“I’m sure it has. But you have my word, if it means anything to you, that I do.”

 

Ron nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. But if you ever hurt him…”

 

“I have no intention of ever hurting him.”

 

“Good.” Ron gave Draco a tight-lipped smile. “Now we’re done.”

 

“Excellent. Shall I tell Harry to come down?”

 

“If you would, please.”

 

Draco nodded and left the room. Ron just stood there, thinking hard about what Draco had said.

 

“How did it go?” Harry asked the moment Draco walked into their bedroom. “I don’t see any blood, so that’s a good sign.”

 

Draco smirked. “If you say so.”

 

“Seriously, how did it go?”

 

“He thanked me, we had a brief conversation, and I believe we came to an understanding of sorts. He understands that if he continues to hurt you, I’ll hurt him.”

 

Harry’s eye roll was as much in his voice as it was his actual expression. “Draco.”

 

“You asked,” Draco pointed out, sitting down on the bed to remove his shoes. “He’s waiting for you downstairs. Hurry up and talk to him. I want to go to bed.”

 

“You can go to bed without me, you know.”

 

Draco smiled slowly. “When I said ‘go to bed,’ I didn’t mean ‘go to sleep.’”

 

Harry grinned. “A wonderful incentive for me to get what is sure to be an awkward conversation over with quickly. I’ll be back.”

 

Harry trotted down the stairs, determined to get things sorted out with Ron. How things got sorted depended mostly on Ron, though. At the last moment, he detoured before going into the drawing room to grab a couple of beers from the kitchen. He figured Ron probably needed one after talking to Draco, and he might need one to get through this conversation if Ron told him he couldn’t accept him and Draco as a couple.

 

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the drawing room. “Lager?”

 

Ron nodded gratefully. “I could use one.”

 

“Sit down,” Harry offered, gesturing to a chair. He sat back down on the couch.

 

“I suppose Malfoy told you why I came here.”

 

“He said you thanked him for saving your life.”

 

“I did,” Ron confirmed. “I want you to know I meant it.”

 

“I’d glad to hear that.”

 

“I’m also here to apologise to you,” Ron said. He took a deep swallow of beer. “I said some terrible things to you, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I should have…I should have shown you more respect. I didn’t and I’m sorry.” He paused. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Harry, and I’m afraid I have.”

 

Harry sipped at his own beer as he contemplated how to respond to Ron. A part of him was tempted just to forgive him and let it go, because it would be easier, but this didn’t just involve him any more—it involved Draco, too. And he didn’t know if Ron could handle being his friend if he was dating Draco.

 

“That depends on a couple of things,” he finally said. “You’ve said you’re sorry for what you said to me. But are you just sorry for saying it, or are you sorry for believing it, too? I need to know if you still think I’m an idiot, if you still think Draco’s dosed me with some potion. I need to know if you think I’m too stupid to know my own heart, my own mind. I need to know if you have any respect for me at all. Because based on what you said to me while you were in the infirmary, and a few times before that, you don’t.”

 

Ron winced but spoke earnestly. “I do respect you, Harry. I know I may not have acted like it lately, but I do. I won’t say I understand your relationship with Malfoy, but I don’t doubt you know your own mind there. You made that pretty clear. I don’t think he’s dosed you with a potion. And I don’t think you’re an idiot. Far from it.”

 

“I’m relieved to hear that. It bothered me quite a bit to know you thought so poorly of me.”

 

Ron sighed. “It’s not so much that I thought poorly of you. It’s more that I thought poorly of Malfoy. When you said you…loved him, I couldn’t comprehend it. It was just so far out of the realm of possibility for me that you could actually love someone like him, someone I hated and that I knew you had hated at one time, that I freaked out. I didn’t handle it well.”

 

“To say the least,” Harry said dryly, with a hint of a smile.

 

Ron’s lips briefly quirked into a half-smile, but it faded quickly. “I’ll be honest with you, Harry. I still don’t understand how you’re in love with him. Not saying that I don’t think you really are,” he added swiftly, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying I don’t understand it.”

 

“I tried to explain it to you before, but…”

 

“I wasn’t wiling to listen, I know. But I am now, if you’re willing to try and explain it again.”

 

Harry took a long draw from his bottle of beer. “I’m not sure I can explain it so you’ll really ever understand, partly because I’m not entirely sure how it happened myself. It just did.

 

“After Draco rescued me, I felt a sort of connection to him. I felt like he could understand some of what I was going through in a way no one else could because no one else had been there, had witnessed it.

 

“Then Dumbledore asked me to be friends with him, and he wound up living with me in this house. I would have been nice to him regardless—he’d saved my life, and I owed him basic courtesy at the very least. But I was also so very curious about him—he wasn’t the person I expected him to be. He was this complete mystery.”

 

“And you can’t resist a mystery,” Ron commented dryly.

 

Harry chuckled. “No, I guess I can’t. But because I was making an effort to be genuinely nice to him, and because we were stuck here together, I had the opportunity to really get to know him—get to know who he is currently, not who he was at school. And the more I got to know him, the more I actually started to like him. He’s funny, he’s clever, he knows way more than me about magic, and he was willing to teach me.” Harry smirked. “Then I started noticing how fit he is.”

 

“Urgh,” Ron groaned. “Can we skip this part?”

 

“I wasn’t planning on going into any details,” Harry assured him. “I’ll just say we’re definitely sexually compatible. But we also have a lot in common. Our experiences with Voldemort tie us together. We love Quidditch. We both have issues with family. We’re both on our own. We’ve both had expectations piled on our shoulders from a very young age. We’re both…scarred, in some ways. We share a sense of humour, we share in interest in learning about magic, we share an interest in many things. I can talk to him about absolutely anything, and I know he won’t judge me or think less of me. He understands me. It’s a gift to find someone who really understands you at the core.”

 

“It is,” Ron agreed, even as he absorbed Harry’s rather pointed comment about being about to trust Draco to never judge him. “I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I don’t know what Hermione sees in me, but I know she _sees_ me. She gets me.” He smiled. “And apparently loves me anyway.”

 

Harry smiled back at him. “As I recall, the course of true love didn’t run that smoothly for the two of you at first. You’re two very different people, but you still have those commonalities that make it work for you. It’s not that different from Draco and me. Do we have our differences? Absolutely. Do we disagree on things? Of course we do. We actually had our first fight the other day.” He couldn’t resist teasing Ron—he owed him some sort of payback—and grinned cheekily as he winked. “The make-up sex was brilliant.”

 

“Merlin,” Ron groused. “I didn’t need to know that. I thought you were keeping the details to yourself.”

 

“Oh, I could give you far more details than that,” Harry said, grinning. Still thinking of getting Ron back a little, he added, “I’ll just say it involved the kitchen table and leave it at that.”

 

Ron’s face twisted, and Harry knew Ron was thinking he’d never be able to eat at that table again without thinking of Harry and Draco having sex on it. Considering Ron’s love of food, Harry considered that pretty good payback.

 

“Anyway, we had to work past quite a bit of history and resolve things between us before I could fall in love with him. Though we actually hadn’t resolved much of anything about our pasts when we started sleeping together.”

 

“Really? It didn’t bother you to sleep with someone who…”

 

“Who I wasn’t entirely sure I liked everything about? Not really.”

 

Ron frowned thoughtfully at him. “I’m not sure I could shag someone I didn’t like.”

 

Harry shrugged. “It was sex. I missed having sex. And if I put aside our Hogwarts history, I did like him. When it started out, it was just supposed to be sex—I wasn’t looking to start a relationship with him. I was attracted to him. He was attracted to me. We tried not to act on it. We knew what would happen if people found out we were sleeping together—the Chosen One and the former Death Eater-turned-spy. Just imagining the headlines in the _Daily Prophet_ was quite a deterrent.”

 

Ron laughed. “Let’s see, what might they have said? ‘Death Eater Despoils Hero?’”

 

Harry gagged. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘The Chosen One Seduced to the Dark Side’, but yours is pretty good.”

 

Ron chuckled. “That would have been one for the scrapbook for sure.”

 

“More like the scrap heap,” Harry retorted. He felt like he was getting back on track with Ron, and it felt good to be interacting more normally, but he still had one very important question he needed answered.

 

“At any rate, we did start having sex. Really, really good sex,” he added with a wink. He was getting a kick out of teasing Ron this way. “Then I started having feelings for him, feelings that I fought against because I knew nothing good could come of them. But they wouldn’t go away. I don’t think they ever will. I fell in love with him, Ron, completely unintentionally. And I’m happy. I’m very happy. He makes me happy.”

 

Harry regarded Ron seriously. “I would like for you to be happy for me, but I can’t make you feel something you don’t. But even if you can’t be happy about my relationship with Draco, I need to know if you can at least accept it. We’ll be together all the time, just as you and Hermione are. If you’re going to be coming over here as my friend, you’re going to be around Draco. Is that something you’re going to be able to handle? Handle without making snide comments under your breath or insulting him? Or me?”

 

Ron swallowed the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table with a solid _thunk_. Then he looked at Harry.

 

“Yes.”

 

Harry waited for him to say more, but when Ron wasn’t forthcoming, he asked, “Yes? That’s it, just yes?”

 

Ron smiled seriously. “Yes. I can accept you’re with him. I can respect that, and I can respect you by not insulting him or saying bad things about him. I can’t promise I’ll never slip up, but I won’t do it intentionally. I don’t want to lose you as my friend, and if keeping you as my friend means dealing with Malfoy, I’ll deal with him.”

 

Harry let loose a long sigh. “Thank you.”

 

“It’s the least I can do for my best mate,” Ron said, smiling a little. “And it’s also the least I can do for the man who saved my life. I doubt we’ll ever be friends, and I’m certainly not going to fall in love with him the way you did after he saved you, but I can be civil, and I can be tolerant.”  

 

Harry laughed. “I think one of us being in love with Draco is plenty, thanks. I’m quite sure Draco would agree with both of us on that.”

 

“Me too,” Ron said, grinning.

 

“I’m glad we talked and got this sorted. I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

 

“Yeah, and it’ll be nice having Hermione happy again. She’s been in a right state about us being angry with each other.”

 

“I’ve missed her, too,” Harry said. “Maybe you can both come over tomorrow or the next day, just to hang out.”

 

“Sounds good. I know she’d like that.”

 

Ron stood. “It’s getting late, so I’d best be going. Thanks for not chucking me out on my ear the minute I got here.”

 

Harry laughed as he got up. He took Ron’s outstretched hand and turned the handshake into a hug. “I’m glad I didn’t chuck you out, too.”

 

Harry walked Ron to the Floo, and Ron promised to Floo the next day to set up plans for them to all get together. After he’d left, Harry smiled. He felt much better having had an honest talk with Ron and better still that they’d come out of it as friends.

 

Noting the time, he hurried upstairs to Draco. He hoped Draco wasn’t too irritated by being kept waiting—he was in the mood for some of that really, really good sex.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

 

 

Harry asked Hermione and Ron to come over for a research session. It was to be a test of sorts—could the four of them sit together at a table and have a discussion peacefully? Harry thought it was good to ease into things and thought setting up a situation with a specific topic of conversation they all agreed on—killing Voldemort—might make things a little easier. Who would have thought that death had the potential to make a conversation easier?

 

Draco wasn’t particularly thrilled with the notion, but agreed to help with the research. They needed to see if there was some way to guarantee Voldemort would stay dead, and he was all for finding the answer as soon as possible. He was damned tired of the war.

 

Harry was putting out some snacks on the library table when Ron and Hermione came in. Draco walked in a moment later. Hermione went straight up to him.

 

“Thank you. Thank you for saving Ron’s life. You can’t understand what it means to me, to so many of us.” She smiled a little. “I know we’ve never gotten along, but we’ve done well enough at it since you and Harry have been living here at Grimmauld. I hope we can continue on the same way.”

 

Draco cut his eyes to Harry and then looked back at Hermione. “I have no problem with that. I don’t really have a problem with you.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a dig at Ron, more of a subtle way of Draco saying his issues centred on Ron rather than Hermione. Harry decided it was civil enough.

 

Hermione looked a bit surprised by Draco’s comment. “Well, that’s good.”

 

Draco found it a bit ironic he actually had much less of a problem with the Muggle-born than the pure-blood. He decided Harry would owe him for what he was about to say next.

 

“I don’t think Muggle-borns should be executed or excluded from the wizarding world. You have magic. You have magic for a reason. You’re clever, Granger, and you have skill. I respect that.”

 

Hermione’s eyes were wide, but she simply nodded. “Thank you. I think we’re going to get along fine.”

 

Draco inclined his head and then glanced at Ron. “Weasley.”

 

“Malfoy,” Ron returned in the same neutral tone.

 

“Well, shall we get started?” Harry asked brightly, thrilled things were starting out even better than he had hoped.

 

They all sat at the table, Hermione across from Draco and Ron across from Harry.

 

“I’ve been doing some reading up on spells that destroy the entire body,” Harry said. “I was thinking if we completely obliterate him, he can’t come back.”

 

“Good thinking,” Ron said, his voice determinedly positive. “Have you found anything that looks like it might work?”

 

“Not particularly. There was a spell that would cause him to sort of explode I considered.”

 

“Exploding sounds good to me,” Ron said.

 

“Yeah, but you’re not the one who’s going to be standing there for the fallout,” Harry pointed out. “I really don’t fancy being spattered with Voldemort guts.”

 

“Eww,” Hermione said, and Ron looked disgusted. Draco smirked a little. 

 

“We could render his body useless and then destroy it,” Draco suggested.

 

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked.

 

“We could use a Decapitation spell,” he said. “My father used one against me once; fortunately, I’m a good ducker.”

 

All three of them looked horrified.

 

“He tried to decapitate you?” Harry asked. “Was this the night that you…?”

 

“Killed him? Yes.” Draco’s tone was very cool, very even, but Harry knew the emotions that lay beneath it.

 

“I must say, Malfoy, your family is very…interesting,” Ron said carefully.

 

Draco lifted a brow. “So is yours.”

 

Harry snorted and tried to disguise it with a cough but was completely unsuccessful. “Sorry,” he said, not quite able to supress his grin. Hermione was obviously hiding a smile behind her hand.

 

Ron looked a bit taken aback at first, but then he actually smiled a little. “Yeah, I guess from your perspective we probably are.”

 

Draco just smirked. “As I was saying, Harry could decapitate him and then we could burn the body or something.”

 

“Do you think he’d enjoy joining the Headless Hunt?” Harry wondered.

 

Ron snickered, but Hermione looked startled. “Do you think he could come back as a ghost?”

 

Harry frowned. He’d meant his comment as a joke, but Hermione had a point. “I don’t know. Is there a spell to prevent someone from becoming a ghost? The last thing we need is a ghost war.”

 

“Maybe one of us could ask Nearly Headless Nick,” Hermione suggested. “He might know. If not, we can add it to the list of things to research.”

 

Harry opened one of the books he’d pulled from the shelves. “Well, let’s get started.”

 

They worked in silence for a while, with the only sounds the cheerful popping of the fire and the munching of crisps as they were eaten.

 

“Here’s a shrinking spell,” Ron said. “Says it works on animals, so I guess it would work on a human—or whatever You-Know-Who is now.”

 

“Voldemort,” Hermione reminded Ron.

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“What would we do with him after we shrank him?” Draco asked, forcing himself to engage in the conversation with Weasley. He kept reminding himself Harry was worth having to talk to Weasley. “Do you mean kill him and then shrink him, or would the shrinking process actually kill him?”

 

“He’d survive the shrinking, so I guess Harry would have to kill him either before or after. No point in keeping him alive as a tiny little doll.”

 

“We could feed him to Fang,” Harry suggested, grinning. “I’d want him alive and aware of that happening, though, so I’d shrink him while he was still alive.”

 

“Poor Fang,” Hermione said, smiling. “It would surely give him the worst case of indigestion.”

 

It took Draco a minute to figure out who Fang was. Then he remembered Hagrid’s giant dog and decided to refrain from giving his opinion on that monstrosity.

 

They went back to reading. This time Hermione broke the quiet. “Here’s a spell that condenses things. It causes the object to collapse in upon itself, smaller and smaller, until it is gone.”

 

Harry grimaced a little. He could imagine the sound of crunching bones as Voldemort squished into nothingness. Yuck.

 

“That’s not bad,” Draco said. “Would it work on a human?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “It says it’s for things.”

 

“Harry could try it on a spider,” Ron suggested. “Perhaps one of the Acromantulas. If it worked on them, surely it would work on…V-V-Voldemort.”

 

Harry grinned. “You wouldn’t mind one of those giant spiders crunching up into itself, would you?”

 

“Not at all,” Ron said fervently.

 

“Of course, Harry would be swarmed after he killed the one, if he even got close enough to do that,” Hermione pointed out.

 

“Where are these Acromantulas?” Draco asked.

 

“The Forbidden Forest,” Harry said.

 

“The Forbidden Forest!” Draco looked appalled. “Dumbledore is crazy to let them live there.”

 

“For once I actually agree with you, Malfoy,” Ron said wryly. “I really hate spiders.”

 

“Do I even want to know how you know about Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest?” Draco asked.

 

The other three grinned at each other.

 

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Harry said. “I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Yes, you certainly will.”

 

“Going back to the problem at hand,” Hermione said practically. “Anyone found anything else? If the condensing spell works on humans, it would be a possibility, but I’m not sure a shrinking spell is our best bet.”

 

“I found a desiccating spell,” Draco offered.

 

“You mean he would dry up, like some kind of mummy?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said. “Whatever’s left after the body is completely dried would turn to dust very easily. No more body.”

 

“Hmmm…” Harry pondered this. “That’s not a bad idea. How fast does it work?”

 

“It says it works quickly, though that’s a relative term of course. You could always try it on a spider.”

 

“Do you think it would be painful?” Ron wondered. “V-Voldemort deserves some pain.”

 

Harry agreed completely. He hoped the spell was extremely painful.

 

Draco shrugged. “I imagine having all the moisture removed from your body and drying up into a husk wouldn’t be pleasurable.”

 

“True,” Hermione said. “We’ll put that one down as a definite possibility. What’s the title of the book you found it in?”

 

Hermione made a note of the title and page number, and they continued reading. After a bit longer, Ron closed his book. “Anyone else ready for a break? Reading about some of this stuff is rather disturbing.”

 

They agreed to take a break, and Harry suggested they move outdoors. It was a bit chilly, but London was having another of those very strange warm spells, and the weather had cleared from the rain they’d been having. They cast some warming and drying spells before settling on the ground.

 

“Hey!” Harry suddenly realised something. “What’s the date?”

 

“Last day of February,” Ron said, smiling.

 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow!” Harry exclaimed. “Were you going to let me miss it?”

 

“Nah,” Ron said. “I was going to talk to you about it today. Mum’s having a nice dinner for all the family tomorrow night. You’re invited to come.”

 

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m really damn tired of staying here. I think it would be safe for me to come over for one evening, don’t you?”

 

“I think so,” Ron said, “and Mum said to invite you, so obviously she thinks so.”

 

“Should you ask Dumbledore?” Hermione wondered.

 

“He’s not my keeper,” Harry said, a bit defiantly. “It’s not like I’m going shopping in Diagon Alley again. The Burrow is warded. I think it will be fine.” He looked at Ron, smiling happily at the prospect of a party and getting out of the house. “What time?”

 

“Six,” Ron said.

 

“I don’t have a gift for you,” Harry realised, looking a bit chagrined. “Sorry about that. I’ll owe you one.”

 

Ron waved it aside. “No worries. Having you come over is a pretty good gift.” Then he looked at Draco. “Mum said I was to invite you as well.”

 

Draco lifted his brows. “Did she? That was very kind of her. But I think I’ll give you a gift by staying home. Tell you mother I appreciate the thought.”

 

Ron tried to hide his relief but wasn’t fully successful. Harry was just pleased he was trying. He didn’t mind that Draco had said he wanted to stay home—just because he and Draco were together didn’t mean they were glued at the hip. And Harry knew having Draco there would have made things a little awkward. Ron was his friend, not Draco’s, and just the fact they were being civil to one another was plenty for Harry.

 

“All right, then,” Harry said, smiling. “See you tomorrow at six. Tell your mum I’m looking forward to it.”

 

“Remus is invited too, of course,” Hermione said.

 

“I’ll tell him,” Harry assured her.

 

Draco slid his eyes to Harry. “Now that your social calendar is booked, I think it would be a good time for you to tell me one of these stories I’ve always heard about you but never believed. I want to hear about these Acromantulas.”

 

“Oh, please, no,” Ron begged. “I don’t want to talk about spiders.”

 

Draco smirked. Harry came to the rescue.

 

“I’ll tell you about the Acromantulas later then. There’re lots of other stories to tell. How about a nice story about a Basilisk?”

 

“A Basilisk,” Draco said flatly. “You mean to tell me the story of a Basilisk being kept in the Chamber of Secrets is true? That the Chamber of Secrets really exists?”

 

“Yep,” Harry said, grinning. He didn’t usually enjoy talking about things that reminded him of dealing with Tom Riddle in any form, but for some reason he thought he’d enjoy telling Draco just to see his reactions. “I fought it.”

 

“You fought a Basilisk? How were you not killed when it looked at you?”

 

“Kept my eyes closed a lot,” Harry admitted. “At least until Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, blinded it.”

 

“So is it still down there?” Draco asked, looking horrified by the idea.

 

“Well, whatever’s left of it is. I killed it.”

 

“With Gryffindor’s sword,” Ron added. 

 

“You said you fought it—you mean you actually killed it? Wait a minute. This was second year, when there was all the talk about the Heir of Slytherin, right?” Draco’s eyes widened. “Are you the Heir of Slytherin?”

 

“No, I’m not,” Harry assured him. “And yes, I killed it, more by luck than skill. I had help from Fawkes, like I mentioned. Fawkes saved my life, too—his tears got rid of the poison in me from where the Basilisk had got me with one of its fangs.”

 

“Hold on, back up,” Draco said, holding up his hand. “This is all a bit too fantastic. I want to hear this from the beginning.”

 

So Harry launched into the story, with Ron adding details as he went along. Draco’s reactions were quite satisfying. When he was finished, Draco just sat in silence for a few moments.

 

“A diary,” he finally said. “A diary my father gave to Weasley’s sister allowed a…a version of Tom Riddle to come to life. And you killed him by stabbing the diary with a Basilisk fang you pulled out of your arm after you’d killed said Basilisk with Gryffindor’s sword that was brought to you in the Sorting Hat by a phoenix that then used its tears to save your life.” He shook his head. “And you did all this when you were twelve. I’d say you were making all this up, but even the best storyteller couldn’t come up with a tale like that.”

 

“You’re right about that,” Harry agreed. “I still have a hard time believing it happened, and it happened to me.”

 

Draco shook his head. “You’re lucky to be alive, Potter. How many times have you escaped death like that?”

 

“Hmm…I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “A few.”

 

“Well, don’t be running out of lives any time soon,” Draco said sharply. “Like for the next one hundred and fifty years or so.”

 

Harry laughed and leaned in to kiss Draco lightly. He knew Ron would probably be disgusted, but Ron would have to get used to seeing Harry interact with Draco as his lover at some point. Draco shot him a look that seemed to say he wasn’t overly comfortable with the public display of affection either, but Harry figured he needed to get used to it, too. He wasn’t going to hide the fact he loved Draco.

 

“There’s more stories, you know,” Hermione said. “There’s the Philosopher’s Stone and Quirrell, Sirius and Wormtail, the Triwizard tournament…Harry’s life is not what one would call a quiet one.”

 

“I hope one day it is,” Harry said. “Though I’m not sure what I’d do with myself if I wasn’t involved in some crazy situation.”

 

Draco smiled slowly. “Oh, I have some ideas on that.”

 

Harry shot him a fast, wicked grin. “I’m sure you do.”

 

“All right, that’s enough,” Ron groused. “I don’t need any pictures in my head, and besides, my stomach is growling. We’d best be going, Hermione.”

 

Harry laughed and let Ron pull him to his feet after he’d helped Hermione up. “Well, far be it from me to keep you from a meal.” He hugged each of his two friends. “I’m so glad you came over today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

After polite goodbyes were exchanged with Draco, Hermione and Ron went inside and Flooed back to the Burrow. Draco let out a little sigh of relief he hoped Harry didn’t notice. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected, but socialising with Gryffindors did take some getting used to.

 

He felt Harry come up behind him and wrap his arms around him. He rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “Thank you, love.”

 

“For behaving? I told you I would.”

 

“I know, but I want you to know I appreciate it.”

 

Draco turned slightly in Harry’s arms and looked back at him. “How much do you appreciate it?”

 

Harry smiled slowly. “I appreciate it very much.”

 

“Enough to demonstrate your appreciation by coming upstairs with me?”

 

“I think I could be persuaded.”

 

Draco kissed along Harry’s jaw and up to his ear. He bit lightly on the lobe, and Harry hissed.

 

“Persuaded yet?” Draco asked, his voice low as he continued working his mouth down Harry’s neck.

 

“Mmmm…just about.” Harry liked the idea of a slow seduction.

 

Draco turned more fully to face him, and his hands reached around to squeeze Harry’s arse. He continued running his lips and tongue slowly up and around Harry’s neck and back up to his jaw. Whenever Harry would try to capture his lips, Draco would slide away.

 

Draco teased the shell of Harry’s ear with his tongue. “You know what I want?” he whispered.

 

Harry shuddered as the warm breath blew across his dampened flesh. “What?”

 

“I want you in me. I want to feel you fill me up, take me over the edge.”

 

Harry groaned. “Unless you want me taking you right here on the grass, we’d better go upstairs now.”

 

He felt Draco grin against his jaw and then the next thing he knew they were standing in their bedroom.

 

“Why don’t we do that more often?” Harry wanted to know as he began unbuttoning Draco’s shirt.

 

“Because it would be supremely lazy.” Draco shrugged off his shirt, and Harry yanked off his own tee. Draco finally kissed Harry properly as he began to work on getting his jeans undone. Then he slid down Harry’s body, kissing and petting and sparking little flares of heat within Harry everywhere he touched. Draco mouthed around the base of Harry’s cock before sucking on his balls. Harry groaned and held Draco’s head in place, roughly combing his fingers through his hair.

 

Harry kept his hands in Draco’s hair as his head bobbed up and down, and he moaned and uttered little words of encouragement as Draco sucked him. Draco rubbed himself through his trousers as he worked Harry for a few minutes. Then he moved his way back up, kissing and licking Harry’s stomach and chest before fastening his mouth on Harry’s.

 

Before long they were both naked and on the bed, rolling around in a give and take of pleasure. Harry pressed Draco’s head into the pillow by kissing him deeply while he teased his cock and balls with his hand. Draco moaned against Harry’s mouth as the kiss grew hotter, wetter. He felt Harry’s finger against his entrance and spread his legs in invitation, but Harry continued to tease him by just rubbing against the puckered outside. 

 

“Harry,” Draco sighed as Harry’s lips moved from his mouth to his neck to his nipple. He shifted restlessly as Harry mouthed at it. “Need you.”

 

“You have me,” Harry murmured. “Always.”

 

Draco’s heart stuttered a little at Harry’s words. Not only a profession of love, but one of permanence. They hadn’t ever spoken of the future—they’d only been in this relationship a short time—but Harry’s words led Draco to believe Harry wasn’t viewing this as anything temporary.

 

Harry sliding back up to suck at the skin at the base of his collarbone distracted him from his thoughts. Then he felt Harry bite down at the same time he felt one of Harry’s fingers breach him. Draco’s head arched back, and he pulled his legs back farther as he groaned deeply.

 

“Like that, do you?” he heard Harry whisper. He felt Harry lick his way across to the other collarbone and begin to suck. Draco felt a slight scrape of teeth and shuddered. This time when Harry bit, he bit harder and shoved two fingers in Draco’s arse.

 

“Oh, fuck yes,” Draco gritted out, writhing a little as Harry continued to stretch him with his fingers. “So damn good.” 

 

Harry kissed Draco, his tongue mimicking the motions of his fingers. Draco kissed him back eagerly, running his hands wherever he could reach on Harry’s body. A scrape of his nails down Harry’s side caused the hand working him to jerk, so Draco did it again. Harry moaned into his mouth and worked Draco faster.

 

Harry abruptly pulled back and out and sat up. “Roll over,” he ordered.

 

Draco was only too happy to comply. But instead of lying flat with his knees under him as was often the case, he knelt at the head of the bed and grasped the top of the headboard. When he pushed out his arse in invitation, he heard Harry take a shuddering breath.

 

“So fucking hot,” Harry breathed, stroking his hand down Draco’s back and over his arse. He massaged Draco before spreading his cheeks and staring at the tempting dark hole. He cast the cleansing charm with just a thought and then lowered his mouth and ran his tongue up and over that hole.

 

Draco jerked as a thrill of heat tingled outwards from his hole, causing it to flex. “Oh, shit, do that again.”

 

Harry did better than that. He used his mouth to suck at Draco’s hole. As he pushed back against Harry, Draco started a litany of pleas and curses that were music to Harry’s ears. Harry pointed his tongue and ran it around the wrinkled edges before pushing it inside. He liked the feel of the little ridges under his tongue and the pinch of Draco’s hole around it. The taste was…unusual. Not bad, but definitely different than the way other parts of Draco’s body tasted. 

 

“Oh, gods, yes,” Draco bit out. He gripped the headboard hard as the erotic feeling of Harry sucking at him, penetrating him, made him gasp and groan out encouragement. He reached down and fisted his prick, stroking himself as Harry continued to tongue-fuck him. This was a completely new element to their lovemaking, and Draco liked it very, very much.

 

Harry ended the rim job, much to Draco’s disappointment, but when he felt three fingers stretch him wide, he forgot all about it. He pushed back as Harry fucked him with his hand.

 

Harry ran his tongue up the knobs of Draco’s spine as he continued to work him, very deliberately and slowly. He heard Draco muttering and asking for more, but he kept the pace stubbornly slow. He sucked at the skin at the base of Draco’s neck hard enough to leave a mark, enjoying the salty taste of lust-induced perspiration. He felt Draco tense a little in anticipation, and Harry grinned as he worried the skin lightly with his teeth. His Slytherin liked being bitten. Harry was more than happy to oblige, and when he was satisfied with the red mark blooming at the back of Draco’s neck, bit down and pushed his fingers hard into Draco’s arse. He kept his teeth in Draco’s neck as he fucked him harder, Draco’s moans and begging encouraging him to prolong the delicious foreplay just that little bit longer.

 

He eventually released Draco and slowed his hand again. He licked and kissed the rather deep bite mark and smiled. He liked seeing his mark on Draco. He liked it a lot.

 

“Please, Harry,” Draco gasped as he twisted against Harry’s hand. “Please, now.”

 

Harry was more than ready to bury his aching cock in that hot channel. He’d been able to hold himself in check, focussed on pleasuring and stimulating Draco—but doing so had pleased and stimulated him, too, and he wanted what Draco was asking for just as much as Draco did.

 

He lubed his cock before sliding into Draco as slowly as he could. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from pushing in faster because he wanted to torment them both a little more. Harry’s tortuously slow pace was obviously driving Draco mad, as he kept cursing and begging. When Draco shoved back against him, trying to take him in further, Harry instinctively gave his arse a light slap.

 

Draco froze, and Harry worried he’d crossed a line. Then Draco shuddered and arched his neck back. “Do it again,” he whispered.

 

Intrigued, Harry relaxed and pushed a little farther in before he slapped Draco’s other flank lightly.

 

“Holy shit, that’s good,” Harry heard Draco mutter. “I can’t believe I like that.”

 

Harry grinned and pushed the last couple of inches inside Draco. He rested there a moment while Draco panted.

 

Harry rubbed his palm teasingly over the small blotchy red mark his hand had left on Draco’s fair skin. Draco stilled completely. The only sound was his ragged breathing. Harry fondled him for a several seconds more and then laid a quick, slightly harder slap on Draco’s cheek. Pink bloomed, and Draco moaned loudly.

 

“Are you ready to be fucked now?” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear as he leaned over his back. Then he slapped Draco’s arse again. “Or do you want more of that?”

 

“Fuck me,” Draco gasped as arrows of heat shot to his groin again, as they had each time Harry’s hand had connected with his arse. “Please, please take me now before I die.”

 

Harry grinned and moved back. He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in, groaning as he did so. No matter that he’d worked Draco pretty good with his fingers—Draco was still tight and felt so good around him. He began fucking Draco in earnest, setting a rhythm of deep, unhurried thrusts.

 

Draco really did think he was going to die. The first time Harry had slapped him…he’d been stunned by his own reaction. He’d _liked_ it. That bolt of heat went straight to his cock—Draco had felt it twitch and knew he was dripping. With each subsequent pop, he’d gotten more and more turned on—and he’d already been in a rather heightened state of arousal.

 

Now Harry was taking him harder, his pace finally quickening a little. Draco tightened his muscles and heard Harry gasp behind him. His thrusts sped up even more. Good. Draco pushed his arse down, making Harry kneel farther back on his heels. The new position gave Harry’s cock a more upward motion and when Draco pushed himself down, he got what he wanted—Harry’s cock brushed against that place inside him and he cried out, “Oh, yes! Yes!”

 

Harry couldn’t thrust upward very deeply from his position, but that was fine—Draco was ready to take a fast, hard ride. Draco worked himself up and down Harry’s cock, bringing himself closer and closer to climax. It wasn’t easy, with his legs trembling a little, but he tried to keep the right angle so that the head of Harry’s cock was hitting his prostate on each downward push—and he was doing a pretty good job of it.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned. “That’s so good. So good.” When Harry hit that sweet spot within him again, he pressed himself down harder and felt the sparks shower throughout his body. “Oh, gods,” he whimpered. “Oh, fuck.”

 

Draco’s cries and moans and curses were getting louder as he rode Harry faster, so Harry knew he was close. Harry reached around and took Draco’s cock and gave it a squeeze before he began pulling at it. Draco moaned loudly and worked himself harder on Harry’s shallowly thrusting cock. Harry stroked him faster and faster and then felt his own orgasm burst through him. He froze for a moment, Draco still riding him relentlessly. Then he started pumping his hips again, working Draco’s cock hard and fast until he felt Draco clench around him as he cried out loudly. Draco ground his arse against Harry’s groin as he came, working it in slow circles. Harry pressed upward, keeping himself buried in Draco’s arse as he continued to come.

 

When it was over, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s middle, rested his cheek against his back, and held on for dear life. He was wrecked. Draco wasn’t much better. His head hung down as he panted and gripped the headboard to keep himself semi-upright. He slowly uncurled his fingers and rolled his back.

 

“I’ve got to move—let go, will you?”

 

Harry didn’t want to ever let go, but he could feel his own legs throbbing a little from where Draco was sitting on him. He released Draco, who immediately lifted off of Harry’s cock and then twisted a little ways to the side and collapsed crossways on the bed. He gave a huge sigh of relief as he stretched out his legs over the side of the bed and lifted his arms over his head. Harry fell over next to him and stretched out his legs too—it felt good.

 

A blissful lassitude set in, and they both drifted in silence for a while. Draco eventually moved enough to roll over and place random kisses on Harry’s chest while he ran his hand through his chest hair. Harry hummed in contentment and lifted his arm to drape it over Draco’s shoulders and back. He liked it when Draco was affectionate, especially since it didn’t happen all that often. He noted the red marks on Draco’s bum hadn’t completely faded and started to make a teasing comment but held back. He had a feeling he should let Draco take the lead there.

“The way you can make me feel,” Draco breathed. He punctuated his next words with kisses. “That—was—incredible.”

 

“It was,” Harry agreed. “The slow build up was driving me a bit spare, but I think it was worth it.”

 

“Mmmm. Very worth it—even though there were moments I thought I was going to explode if you didn’t hurry up and get on with it.”

 

“I noticed,” Harry said, smiling. “That was part of the fun. What did you think of the rim job?”

 

Draco propped himself up a little to kiss Harry languidly. When they pulled apart, he said, “I owe you one. You’ll fucking love it.”

 

“It turned me on just doing it,” Harry admitted. “It’s a little dirty, you know? A little forbidden. I liked that about it.”

 

“I just plain loved it,” Draco said, grinning. “When you used your tongue to get inside me—oh, I wanted to come right then.”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t, though I imagine we took things slowly enough you wouldn’t have had any problem getting it up again.”

 

“True…but you know holding back makes it all the more intense when you finally do come.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, trailing his fingers over Draco’s back in a gentle caress. He moved his fingers up to where he imagined the impression of his teeth might still be. Draco hummed as he stroked it.

 

“I can feel that,” Draco said lazily. “I’m going to have to cover it with a glamour.”

 

“I wish you didn’t have to,” Harry said. “It turned me on to put my mark on you.” Then he winced. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant, and if I have to have someone’s mark on me, I’d rather it be yours. But I’m not leaving this room without it covered. I know everyone knows we have sex, but I don’t feel the need to advertise exactly what we get up to.”

 

“I understand,” Harry said. “I’d cover it if it were me, too. It’s between us. But I’ll like knowing it’s under the glamour.” He smiled at Draco. “You really liked it when I did that, didn’t you? The way I did it?”

 

“I really fucking did,” Draco admitted. He broke Harry’s gaze and slid down a little to rest his face on Harry’s chest. He started playing with the hair there again. “I’m embarrassed to admit I really liked what else you did, too. I shouldn’t have.”

 

“Why not? It’s just you and me here. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what brings you pleasure when we make love.”

 

Draco wanted to squirm. “I’m sure you’re right but…getting turned on by being bitten doesn’t bother me. But getting off on being…” he wet his lips and made himself say the word, “…spanked is humiliating.”

 

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. “I won’t do it again if it bothers you this much. I didn’t plan to do it this time; I didn’t realise it would embarrass you. I’m sorry.”

 

Draco sighed and ran his hand over Harry’s abs. Tracing the soft fur of the happy trail with one finger, he said, “You don’t need to apologise for doing something I admittedly liked. It was just completely unexpected that it felt so good. I don’t like the idea that I get turned on by being…submissive.”

 

“You’re not being submissive,” Harry said, titling Draco’s chin up so he’d see he meant what he said. “You’re not. You were as much in control then as I was. You weren’t giving yourself over, handing me the control, letting me do whatever I wanted to you. I only slapped you the second time because after I impulsively did it the first time, I knew you liked it, and you asked me to do it again. I did it again because we both liked it.”

 

“You liked it too?”

 

“Yeah. I liked seeing your skin get red and knowing I’d done that and made you hot.” His lips quirked a little. “It makes me wonder if I’d like having it done to me.”

 

Draco felt a chill wash through him and abruptly sat up. Images of hands assaulting Harry flashed into his mind and he felt his stomach roil. “I don’t think I could strike you. Not after what they did to you. What I did to you.”

 

Harry sat up a little as well, propping himself up on his elbows. Odd, he hadn’t connected being slapped on the arse with an act of violence. “You wouldn’t be striking me for the purpose of causing me pain, though. If I asked you to do it, you’d be doing it for the purpose of giving pleasure. That’s a big difference there.”

 

He leaned forward and touched Draco’s face. Then he kissed him softly. “You know I don’t blame you for that,” he said against his lips, knowing Draco would understand he was referring to his use of the Cruciatus against him.

 

Draco pulled back, self-loathing reflected in his eyes. “I don’t understand why not. I fucking tortured you. How can you forgive that?”

 

Harry took Draco’s face in both hands, holding it firmly, and looked into his eyes. “Doing something you had no choice in doing doesn’t have to be forgiven. I know you didn’t do it because you wanted to. I know you tried to avoid it. And I know it was unavoidable for you. There’s nothing to forgive, love, but if you need forgiveness, you have it.”

 

“The more I love you, the more I blame myself,” Draco said harshly. He pulled away from Harry and dragged his hands through his hair before dropping his face into them. “I should have gotten you out sooner. I should have worked harder on the Hoop.”

 

Harry rested a hand on Draco’s back and was glad he didn’t shy away. Where had Draco been hiding this? “You got me out. That’s all that matters.”

 

“If I could have finished it sooner, I wouldn’t have had to…do it that last time. I had to torture you the morning before I got you out. I was one of the last people to put you through that. I knew I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t stand having you watch me with those damned eyes as I walked up to you, raised my wand to you again.” The memory of it was so vivid, it made him shiver. “I tried to keep myself cold, not let myself feel anything for you. But you’d watch me…the way you’d watch me…I couldn’t do it again.

 

“I worked the rest of the day on that damn Hoop. I didn’t get it finished until after nine. Then I had to force myself to wait ‘til midnight, until just after the guard change, so I knew I wouldn’t be interrupted. It took so much time.” 

 

Harry stayed silent as he rubbed slow circles on Draco’s back. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“I’ve never thought about it from your perspective before,” he said at last. “I never considered how difficult it might have been for you to curse me, someone you knew. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologise to me!” Draco snapped, looking up. How could Harry apologise to him? “No matter how difficult it was for me to do it, it was a thousand times more difficult for you to endure it. You were the one being tortured, not me.”

 

“But you’re the one torturing yourself now,” Harry said softly, his heart aching at the anguish in Draco’s tone, on his face. In his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t. I love you. I couldn’t love you if I blamed you for that, if I held any bit of resentment at all for what you did when you had no choice. I want you to understand that. I love you freely.”

 

“I don’t understand that either. How someone like you can love someone like me.”

 

“I just do. I can’t explain why I feel the way I do about you. I can list lots of reasons why I like you, but explaining how that all adds up to love is impossible. Sometimes I wonder how you can love me. How two people who grew up hating each other could be in love. How you can love someone with so much baggage.”

 

“You do?” Draco asked, looking a little surprised. “You’re always so confident in expressing how you feel. I didn’t know there were things that you wondered about too.”

 

“I have no doubt that I love you,” Harry said. “But before I fell in love with you, when I was trying to figure out what I felt for you, I asked myself many questions. How could this be possible? Is it possible? But there was one question I never asked myself.” He paused and took Draco’s hand, looking at him steadily. “I never asked myself how I could have feelings for someone I blamed for torturing me. Because once I knew the circumstances, I never blamed you.”

 

Draco studied Harry’s face and realised he believed him. Something inside him, a tight fist of tension, loosened a little. “You amaze me often. It seems like you’re always giving me new reasons to love you.”

 

Harry smiled in genuine pleasure. “That’s a wonderful thing to know. I hope I never stop giving you reasons. You give me a reason to love you every time I wake up beside you. Every time you laugh at something funny I say. Every time you make me breakfast. Every time you touch me.”

 

“I like touching you,” Draco said. He lifted his free hand to Harry’s face in an uncharacteristically sweet gesture. “It’s not always easy for me to say, but I do love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Harry said softly. “Are we all right now?”

 

Draco sighed and brushed a fingertip over Harry’s eyebrow. “I think so.”

 

Harry smiled. “Good.” He leaned in and took Draco’s mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. Draco sighed into his mouth, and Harry was content. They had a lot of difficult things to resolve most people starting a relationship probably didn’t. But they would work through it, bit by bit.

 

They finally drew apart. Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s. “We’re ok.”

 

“Yes, we are,” Draco agreed. He sighed and stretched his arms over his head. “I could use a massage.”

 

“I could use some food,” Harry said, suddenly realising how hungry he was. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight. “Let’s go get something to eat. Then maybe I’ll have the strength to give you that massage.”

 

Draco’s eyes lit up. “Well, then, by all means, let’s eat.”

 

They got up and got dressed. Before he put on his shirt, Draco fingered the mark on the back of his neck.

 

“Will you cover this, please?”

 

“I can just try healing it,” Harry offered.

 

Draco hesitated and his eyes slid away from Harry’s where they were looking at each other in the mirror. After a moment, he met his gaze again. “No, I don’t want you to heal it. I…I like knowing it’s there.”

 

Harry smiled a little, pleased by Draco’s admission. He cast a glamour to cover the love bite. As he rubbed his finger over the now invisible mark, he realised one thing hadn’t been resolved.

 

“About the, uh, arse slapping,” he said. “I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

 

Remembering the way the heat had flashed through him, Draco wet his lips. “The problem is I think I do want you to. I just don’t want to want you to.”

 

Harry chuckled. “We’ll play it by ear then. If you’re in the mood for it, just ask. Don’t be shy. I want to please you every way I can.”

 

“You do please me, very much,” Draco said, smiling slyly.

 

Harry’s grin was lightning-quick. “I know.” Then he grew a little more serious. “I’m not going to ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Ever. But I’m just going to say if you ever do have the urge to give my arse a slap, you have my permission. It’s totally up to you. And if you do it and I don’t like it, I’ll say so. That has to be understood by both of us—if either of us ever doesn’t like something the other does, we say so right away. Agreed?”

 

Draco nodded. “Yes, that’s fair. We’ll see how it goes with the other.”

 

“Good enough,” Harry said and pulled Draco into one last kiss. “Let’s go eat now.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

 

 

Harry’s eyes shot open as he suddenly came awake. Trembling uncontrollably, his breath caught as anxiety rushed and swelled inside him. There was the hollowness of dread filling him and then the crack of a whip echoed through his head, and he _felt_ the pain again. Felt the searing burn as the leather laid his skin open. His breath released on a sob, and his hands shook as he pressed them to his temples in an effort to drive the memory, the pain, out of his mind, but there wasn’t enough pressure in the world to do that. Pain flared through him again, sharp and hot and _mean_ , as he felt another lash crash across his shoulder blades, and he gritted his teeth against crying out. It _hurt_. It physically _hurt_. A third lash had him gasping and arching his back. He felt the blood trickling, inching along his skin in slick droplets as the whip was dragged lightly, teasingly against his abused flesh, making it sting like a thousand bees and burn like molten fire. It was McNair. The sick bastard had always liked doing that, liked letting the horrible anticipation build higher and higher, letting Harry’s nerves stretch tighter and tighter until he felt like a string tensed to snap before rearing back and whipping Harry repeatedly, hard and fast.

 

Despite his efforts, he must have made some sound because Draco stirred next to him. He didn’t want Draco waking up, seeing him like this. He wanted to be alone. Alone because suffering like this—he didn’t know how to share it, or even if it could be shared. He slid out of bed and forced his shaking legs to carry him to the solitude of the bathroom. He shut the door behind him with a soft _click_. The excruciating pain still radiating across his back had him turning and looking at it in the mirror. It was a sharp, shocking relief to see nothing but unbroken skin, but he almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He could still feel the stinging edges of lash marks he couldn’t see. Did he trust his eyes or what he felt? Somewhere in his mind he’d known it couldn’t have been real but...

 

He braced himself over the sink, grateful he was no longer re-experiencing the whipping. The pain was fading, and it slowly slipped away, becoming only a memory again. Feeling bruised and bloody, he stared at himself in the mirror, eyes haunted by ghosts and fears, hair damp with sweat. His arms shook—quick, hard judders—as he saw what he imagined his face must have looked like while he was being whipped—eyes squeezed shut, red from laboured breathing, contorted in agony—superimposed over his actual image.

 

When Draco opened the door, Harry whirled around. He instinctively didn’t want anyone standing behind him, not with his back exposed. 

 

Draco didn’t know his heart could actually ache, but when he saw Harry’s eyes and saw the despair and pain, it hurt.

 

“Flashback?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer.

 

Harry stared blankly at him for a while before answering, and Draco wondered if he was in the present time.

 

“Yes.” The single syllable was harsh, a thready whisper.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“I don’t know.” Harry swallowed. Hard. “I need to be alone now. Go back to bed.” He heard the tremor in his voice and hated it. “I want to shower. I need to be alone.”

 

Draco simply nodded.

 

“All right. I’ll wait for you.”

 

It was incredibly difficult to leave Harry alone in the bathroom, but Draco did as he was asked. He’d had the urge to put his arms around Harry but had a feeling Harry would have freaked out at being restrained even that much, and he didn’t want to upset him further. Harry’s eyes were strange, wild, foreign to him; he looked like a cornered animal, coiled and ready to strike to defend himself. If Harry needed to be alone to calm himself and work through his memories, Draco would respect that, even if it caused him pain to do so.

 

Harry just stood there staring at the closed door for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he turned and with trembling hands, started the shower. He felt…unclean. He felt a need to wash away blood he knew wasn’t really there. As the hot water poured over him, he let the memories come. Bracing his forearms against the wall, he remembered the pain and the various ways it had been inflicted. He remembered the dread that would wash through him when one of them would take the whip from its hook on the wall and snap it tauntingly in the air. He remembered the sound of the laughter he’d hear when his senses would come back to him. He pulled up the hatred in an effort to make it smother the anguish and the pain. He’d rather feel hatred and rage than the emotions currently tearing him up inside, but it was only partially successful. He felt as if the seething, writhing, slashing feelings were eating him alive, taking him apart in greedy, ripping bites. How could he continue to feel so much and survive?

 

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the shower, but when he finally got out, he felt calmer. The sharpest edge of the anxiety had dulled, the shaking was mostly gone, and the roiling emotions had somewhat settled. Now he simply felt…empty. Completely and utterly empty.

 

He couldn’t even work up the energy to wonder what would happen when he had to go out and see Draco. He was just a walking, empty shell, although somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Draco would be worried and he should care about that. He dried off mechanically, hands going through the motions while his mind settled into comforting blankness. When he came out of the bathroom, wrapped protectively in Draco’s dressing gown, he saw Draco sitting on the bed. He’d kept the lights very low.

 

Harry just looked at him for a moment. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t entirely sure he could speak, but he gave it a try.

 

“I’m sorry I woke—”

 

“Don’t,” Draco shook his head, speaking quietly as if he thought Harry would break if he spoke any louder. “Please don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise.”

 

Harry nodded and stood there, watching Draco.

 

“You look a little better,” Draco said cautiously. He was feeling his way around in the dark here. What did one say to comfort someone who’d had a flashback of being tortured?

 

Harry nodded again. “I needed to be alone.”

 

“I understand.”

 

Harry suddenly realised something, with a clarity he couldn’t have imagined even just a moment before: he didn’t want to be alone anymore. “But now I…now I need you.”

 

Draco slowly stood up and walked to Harry. “Can I touch you? Can I put my arms around you?”

 

Harry was grateful Draco had asked first. He felt very fragile.

 

“Yes,” he whispered. His voice trembled a little.

 

Draco gently pulled Harry into his arms and wrapped them loosely around him. He placed Harry’s head on his shoulder. They stood there a long time, first with just Draco holding Harry, but after a few minutes, Harry slid his arms around Draco, too.

 

Very slowly, Draco began to run his hands up and down Harry’s back, gentle sweeps along his spine and shoulder blades that he hoped were comforting. He felt Harry relax a little.

 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

 

Harry broke. The tears finally came, and he wept on Draco’s shoulder, clinging to him. Draco just held him, rubbing his back or running his fingers soothingly through his hair. He said nothing, just let Harry get it all out.

 

Harry finally quieted, and his breath evened out slowly. He eased his death-grip on Draco but didn’t let go.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispered, so softly Draco only barely heard him.

 

Harry lifted his head at last, wiping at one side of his face as he did. Draco lifted a hand and gently wiped the tears from the other side. Then he brushed his lips across Harry’s, very, very softly.

 

Harry just watched him for a moment and then he pulled Draco’s face back and kissed him again. Draco kept it very slow and very gentle. When Harry deepened the kiss slightly, he was a little surprised but followed his lead.

 

Harry pulled back and rested his forehead against Draco’s. “I need you.”

 

“You mean—are you sure?”

 

“Yes. I need something…clean. I need something to take away this emptiness I feel. I need you.” His final statement had an edge of desperation about it.

 

Draco took Harry’s face in both hands and kissed him. He would give Harry whatever he needed. This would be all for Harry.

 

They kissed for the longest time, Draco’s hands slowly roaming, soft brushes of fingertips against skin. When Draco stroked his back under the loosened bathrobe, Harry felt the pain of the lashes slide away. He sighed into Draco’s mouth. “Take me to bed.”

 

Naked, they lay side-by-side, kissing and touching languidly. Draco stroked his hands down Harry’s back, over his bum, into his hair. After a few minutes, he slowly kissed his way down Harry’s throat and then eventually down to Harry’s chest where he laved his nipple with his tongue. Harry moaned lightly and pressed one hand to the back of Draco’s head to hold him in place. Draco switched to the other nipple and slid his hand down to run his fingers lightly over Harry’s half-hard cock. Harry moaned again.

 

Draco had no idea where this well of tenderness inside him had been buried or if it had even existed before now. What he felt for Harry now was soft and sweet and warm. There was no hurry—his patience was endless. They didn’t usually engage in slow lovemaking, but they certainly had. This was different. This was more. This was deeper. He kissed the faint scars on Harry’s chest and wished he could erase them.

 

Harry was floating. It was the only word to describe how he felt. With every glide of Draco’s fingers, with every touch, with every whispered kiss, the darkness receded a little more. Warmth seeped into him, banishing the cold places. When Draco gently rolled him onto his back, he went willingly. The feel of Draco’s hand sliding along his cock flashed the first bit of heat through him, and he sighed. He was no longer empty. He could feel. He could feel pleasure.

 

Draco drugged them both with an achingly tender mating of lips and tongues. He took Harry up slowly, ever so slowly. When Harry finally climaxed, he crested long and slow over the waves and shuddered.

 

Harry had been moaning softly, continuously, as Draco had taken him up and over. When Harry went boneless beneath him, Draco pressed gentle kisses to his lips, easing him down from the climb. Harry’s arms came around Draco and he sighed in contentment.

 

The feel of Harry’s arms encircling him and the warmth of his breath against Draco’s cheek as he relaxed sent a tendril of relief uncurling through Draco. He trailed his lips over to Harry’s ear and whispered, “Do you want more? Tell me what you want.”

 

“I want you to keep making love to me,” Harry whispered back, his voice heavy and thick, never opening his eyes.

 

Draco smiled against Harry’s skin. Harry sounded sated and sleepy and completely relaxed. That was very good. He slid his hand down and through the puddled come on Harry’s chest and cock, wetting his fingers. He sat back a little, ghosted his hand along Harry’s softening cock, down over his balls, taking a moment to roll them gently, then used his thumb to trace along his perineum before rubbing at Harry’s entrance. Harry arched his neck and made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat.

 

Draco slowly prepared him, taking his time and using the movements of Harry’s body and the sounds he was making to guide him. When he finally slid inside, Harry arched his back, and they both moaned.

 

Draco kept the pace slow and easy until Harry was twisting beneath him, hands clenching in the bedclothes, and asking for more. He curled long fingers around Harry’s renewed erection and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts. Harry half-gasped, half-hissed, uttering additional sounds of satisfaction as Draco upped the pace. Draco made himself hold on until Harry came again before letting himself fly. The fall filled him with such joy it took his breath away.

 

When he had his senses back, he leaned down and kissed Harry lightly, just a soft brushing of lips against lips. Harry rolled them over and took the kiss much deeper, darting his tongue in to swirl and twist around Draco’s.

 

“Thank you,” Harry said at last.

 

Draco smiled a little. Harry looked more peaceful, and there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Do you think you can sleep now?” he asked, reaching up a hand to toy with Harry’s fringe.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, sighing and stretching a little. He snuggled into Draco, laying his head on Draco’s shoulder, and Draco wrapped his arms around him. “I love you, Draco.”

 

“I love you too, Harry. I love you too.”

 

Draco lay quietly and listened as Harry’s breathing evened out, and he was sure he’d fallen asleep. Then he just laid there, his mind and emotions in turmoil. This man he loved had such pain trapped inside him. How did Harry live with it? How did he help Harry live with it?

 

No answers came, simply more questions. Draco’s last thoughts before finally falling asleep were of pain…and courage.

 

 

*******************************************************************************

 

 

They slept late the next morning. When Draco finally awoke, it was to Harry gently tracing a random pattern on his chest.

 

“Good morning,” he mumbled sleepily.

 

“’Morning,” Harry said, his voice rough from sleep.

 

“Have you been awake long?”

 

“No. I was just lying here, thinking about how much I love you.” Draco stretched a little, and Harry shifted with him, keeping his head on Draco’s chest. “I don’t know how, but you knew exactly what I needed last night.”

 

“So you feel better?”

 

“Yes, much.”

 

“Can you talk about it?”

 

Harry trailed his hand over Draco’s chest, and Draco sifted his fingers through Harry’s thick, disordered hair. They lay there in contemplative silence for a while before Harry finally said, “I could feel it. I could hear the whip, and I _felt_ it across my back. I wasn’t remembering the pain, I felt it all over again.”

 

Draco inhaled sharply, and his fingers stilled in Harry’s hair. He didn’t know how to respond to that. His gut reaction was to doubt, to believe it was simply Harry remembering, no matter how much it might have hurt in the flashback, but there was something in the tone of Harry’s voice that had him believing him instantly.

 

“It was so real,” Harry continued, his voice soft and faraway in memory. “I had to check my back in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t. It hasn’t happened that way before. Before it’s been memories, very vivid memories of agony and despair and hopelessness, but I’ve never actually physically _felt_ it before.

 

“I don’t know if I can go through that again, Draco.” Draco could hear him swallow thickly, felt it against his chest. “I think it would break me.”

 

Draco wished he could assure Harry it would never happen again. He stroked Harry’s back and saw in his mind’s eye the whip cracking against Harry’s flesh. His gut twisted and his hand clenched involuntarily against Harry’s warm skin.He wanted to be sick. It made him sick to remember watching it happen. He couldn’t imagine feeling it happen the first time, much less again in a flashback. He relaxed his fist and resumed gently sliding his hand along the flesh he could so easily remember being an abraded and angry red.

 

“I don’t think you’ll break,” he finally said. “But if you do, I’ll be here.”

 

“I would have broken last night if you hadn’t been.”

 

“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.” Draco meant that with everything he was. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Do you think what we were talking about last night brought it on?”

 

Harry shrugged against his ribs. “Possibly. But I’ve had flashbacks before without any reminders beforehand, so who knows.”

 

“You haven’t had one since I’ve been sleeping with you.” Draco stated this as a fact—even if he’d slept through it, he’d have known the moment he saw Harry’s face the next day that something had happened.

 

Harry thought about that. “No, I haven’t. Maybe having you with me helps.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“At least they’re not happening as often now.”

 

Draco didn’t comment on the fact that even if the flashbacks were happening less, the one last night had obviously been the worst ever.

 

Harry pushed himself up and leaned down to kiss Draco. “Thank you.”

 

“You don’t need to thank me.”

 

“I know.” He smiled a little. “I’m actually a bit hungry. Do you want to get up, have breakfast?”

 

Draco smiled back at him. “Sure.”

 

They showered before dressing and going downstairs. They made breakfast together. Remus came in while they were eating. His eyes narrowed a little when he saw Harry, but he didn’t say anything. When Harry got up for more tea, Remus looked at Draco sharply. Draco shook his head imperceptibly and mouthed, “He’ll be ok.”

 

Remus nodded, obviously still a little worried, but he cleared his expression before Harry came back to the table.

 

“Anything planned for today?” he asked.

 

Harry brightened a little. “Oh, I haven’t seen you yet to tell you. Today’s Ron’s birthday, and Molly’s having a family dinner. You’re invited to come.”

 

Remus furrowed his brow. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

 

For a second, a shadow clouded Harry’s eyes. Then it cleared and he said, a bit defiantly, “Safe enough. I want to go, so I am.”

 

“Very well.” Remus turned to Draco. “Are you going as well?”

 

The look Draco gave Remus was as dry as the Sahara. “What do you think?”

 

Remus smiled and Harry said quickly, “He was invited though.”

 

“That’s good,” Remus said. “I take it things are better between you and Ron now?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, glancing at Draco. “He apologised to me, and we had a long talk. He understands he has to change his attitude about Draco. The fact that Draco saved his life seems to have woken him up, helped him see Draco has changed. He and Draco are doing the ‘being civil’ routine, and it worked pretty well yesterday when he and Hermione were here.”

 

“That’s very good news,” Remus said. “I think you’re right that Ron finally realises people can change, and that you, Draco, are not the same person you used to be.”

 

“Thank God,” Harry said dryly. He smiled, but his lips felt a bit stiff. Draco flipped him off, and both Harry and Remus laughed. Harry’s was a bit forced, but it was still a laugh.

 

“What time do we need to be at the Burrow?”

 

“Six,” Harry said. “Is that all right?”

 

“Yes, of course. I’m off to run some errands, but I’ll be back long before that.” Remus studied Harry for a moment before he asked quietly, “Is there anything you need?”

 

Draco understood the double meaning and appreciated Lupin’s sensitivity.

 

“No, I...I’m good. But…thanks.”

 

Remus nodded. “I’ll see you later then.” As Harry fiddled with his fork, Remus gave Draco another of those sharp looks. It clearly said: “Take care of him.”

 

Draco nodded briefly. He’d do everything humanly possible to take care of Harry.

 

After Remus left, Draco used his wand to whisk everything to the sink. The washing up could be done later.

 

Harry jumped a little as his plate sailed away. He looked at Draco questioningly.

 

“Let’s go upstairs, love,” Draco said. “You didn’t get enough sleep last night. We can have a bit of a lie-down.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically, a bit defensively.

 

Knowing Harry would do for others before he’d do for himself, Draco shamelessly manipulated. “I’m a little tired. Won’t you come with me? Just relax a little?”

 

“All right,” Harry acquiesced.

 

They went upstairs. Draco took off his own shirt and then moved to take off Harry’s.

 

“Why are we getting undressed?” Harry asked. “If you wanted to have sex, why didn’t you just say so?”

 

“I’m not after sex, just being comfortable,” Draco said soothingly. Harry was as skittish as a cat. He could practically feel the nerves jumping under Harry’s skin. “I want to feel your skin against mine. I’m used to sleeping that way now.”

 

Harry nodded and finished undressing. They slid into bed, and Draco pulled Harry’s head down on his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, just as he had the night before.

 

“We’ll just rest a bit,” Draco said, trailing his fingers across Harry’s back in an effort to soothe away some of the tension he felt, wishing he could erase every mark that had ever scored Harry’s skin. He continued to stroke Harry’s back lazily, occasionally running his fingers lightly through his hair. Harry gradually relaxed, and Draco heard him sigh a little.

 

When Draco felt the wetness on his chest, he knew Harry was crying. He tightened his arms a little and ran gentle fingers through his hair. These weren’t the broken sobs of the night before but a steady, silent trickle of tears.

 

“I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here,” he murmured. The arm Harry had draped across his chest clutched him a little tighter, but he didn’t speak.

 

They lay there in silence for at least an hour. Draco thought Harry dozed a little, and he was glad. He just kept watch over the man he loved. It was all he could do right now. He hoped it was enough.

 

Harry finally stirred. He sleepily rubbed his cheek against Draco’s chest and ran his hand over his side.

 

“Are you awake?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes.”

 

Harry sighed. “You’re very good to me. I didn’t know I needed this.”

 

“I love you. I’d do anything for you. I hope you know that.”

 

“I do. I’d do anything for you. It seems like I’m the one who’s needing so much lately.”

 

“There’s no tally being kept,” Draco said. “You need what you need.”

 

“I know.” Harry sighed again. “My emotions are all over the place. Sometimes I’m angry. Last night it was terror and despair, hopelessness. I felt helpless and trapped and a thousand other things all mixed together. Then it was love and a bit of peace. This morning there was a stillness. I thought everything had settled, but I guess not.”

 

“How do you feel now?”

 

“Sad. And…there’s still a little bit of fear.”

 

“What are you afraid of?”

 

“That it will happen again. That I’ll be captured again. That I’ll relive it again like I did last night.” His breath gusted out windily. “That I’ll let the fear take over my life.”

 

Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair again. “And why are you sad?”

 

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Harry said, “My life will never be the same again. I’ll never be who I once was, who I was going to be. I’ll always carry this with me. They took something from me, Draco, something I’ll never get back. They took part of me and left a hole inside me.” He trailed his hand over Draco’s stomach. “You’ve helped fill that hole.”

 

“I’d say all of what you’re feeling is pretty normal, Harry. The damage done to you wasn’t just physical. Without magic, you probably still might not be healed physically. The emotional part, the mental part…that’s a different story. That’s something magic can’t heal. It will take longer. I don’t know that time heals, but I think it helps.”

 

“I know. It’s still hard, though, not knowing for sure if I’ll ever be able to fully move on from this. Time already has helped some. You’ve helped more. If I hadn’t had you, first as just a friend who could understand, who knew…then as someone who loves me, someone I love…I don’t know what things would be like for me right now. I know they’d be worse.”

 

“If I’ve helped you, I’m glad. You’re very strong, Harry. You say I’ve helped you, but you’ve helped me, too. Knowing you love me, the love I have for you…it’s changed me.” Draco felt a bit embarrassed trying to put it into words, but he thought Harry needed to hear this. “It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like there’s a light inside me, one that was never there before. Right now I’m hurting for you, but that light is still there. That light is you.”

 

Harry sat up slowly and looked at Draco for the first time since they’d started the conversation. He leaned in and kissed Draco, just a soft brush of lips. He brushed his lips over both of Draco’s cheeks before returning to his mouth for another feather-light kiss.

 

“That’s the most beautiful thing you could have ever said to me,” he whispered. “A light. That’s the perfect word for it. You’re the light in me, too. Even when it was so dark inside me last night, your light was there. It kept me from shattering.” He smiled a little. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me came out of the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Fate is a funny thing.”

 

“You believe in fate, don’t you?”

 

“I do. Too much of my life has been dictated by fate for me not to. Do you not?”

 

Draco brushed at Harry’s fringe. “I hadn’t ever really given it much thought. But I think I was fated to love you.” He smiled a little too. “Nothing else but fate can explain the two of us.”

 

Harry smiled more fully. “Too true.” He kissed Draco again and then slid back down to lay his head on Draco’s chest again. He sighed in contentment as he felt Draco’s arms come around him.

 

“Can we just…be like this for a little while longer?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Draco said softly. “Whatever you want.”

 

“I want this,” Harry replied in an equally soft voice. “I want this.”

 

 

************************************************************************************** 

 

 

It was late in the afternoon before they made it back downstairs again. It amazed Harry how much better he felt. He’d thought he was better when he’d woken in the morning, and he had been, but now…now he felt a peace instead of just that stillness.

 

As it was getting close to tea time, and Harry didn’t want to eat much before he went to the Weasleys, they just made themselves a snack of biscuits and tea. As they ate, Draco asked, “Are you up for going out tonight?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It will be a good distraction. Weasley parties are always fun.”

 

“Do you need me to come?”

 

Harry smiled, feeling good that he could mean it. “I know just how much it cost you to ask that, so I’ll just say I appreciate it, but no, I’ll be fine. Really. I’m feeling a lot better. If something changes, I’ll come back.”

 

Draco nodded. It would have been a sacrifice to spend the evening celebrating Weasley’s birthday, but after what Harry had been through today, he would have gone without hesitation if Harry had said he needed him there. He really thought Harry would be fine, though. He loved the Weasleys, and it would do him good to spend some time with people he considered family.

 

Remus came in just then. He looked nice, though his clothes obviously weren’t new. He gave Harry a quick once over and seemed to be satisfied with whatever he saw in Harry’s demeanour.

 

“Don’t spoil your appetite,” he said, grinning, wagging a finger. “You know Molly will be trying to fatten you up.”

 

Harry laughed. “I don’t know why all the Weasleys aren’t as fat as pigs. She’s always trying to feed everyone.”

 

He polished off a biscuit before saying, “You know, when we were researching yesterday, we found a couple of spells to possibly use against Voldemort that I would like you to look at, if you don’t mind. We’re thinking if we completely destroy his body, he won’t be able to come back again.”

 

Remus nodded. “I’d be happy to.” 

 

They made quick work of cleaning up and then moved to the library. Harry showed Remus the condensing and desiccating spells.

 

“The condensing one is a possibility. But I like the idea of being able to see him actually die and having a body as proof, which puts me more in favour of the desiccating one.”

 

Harry nodded. “Good point.”

 

“It would have to work quickly though,” Draco pointed out. “Harry can’t cast the spell and then stand around waiting for the bastard to dry up.”

 

“True. You could test it on a toad.”

 

“We were thinking spider,” Harry said, a little uncomfortable at the idea of killing a toad.

 

“It would be a good starting place. If you did a spider first, you could see how long it took for it to work on something small with relatively little moisture in its body and then compare it to a toad.” Remus smiled sympathetically. “I know it would be difficult for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted.

 

“I’ll do it,” Draco offered. “Killing a toad doesn’t bother me.”

 

Harry still looked a little ill but nodded. “All right. Can we wait until tomorrow though? I just don’t think I’m…up to it today.”

 

“Of course,” Remus said. “Whenever you want to do it is fine.”

 

Harry nodded, appreciating the fact Remus didn’t ask why Harry wanted to put it off. “Oh—I forgot. Do you happen to know of a spell to prevent someone from becoming a ghost?”

 

Remus shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t. It’s smart of you to think of it though.”

 

“Hermione said we should ask Nearly Headless Nick.” 

 

“Good idea. Do you plan on doing more research today?”

 

Harry looked at Draco. Draco shrugged. “Up to you.”

 

“Yeah, I think so. We have a little time before we have to leave for the party.” Harry thought maybe focussing on a way to kill Voldemort might actually benefit him. “Can you join us?”

 

“Yes. Shall we get started now?”

 

They sat down to research and by the end of the hour had found a couple of more potential spells. One was a rapid, high-temperature burning spell that Harry liked, but Draco was concerned someone could put out the fire before Voldemort was dead. Another was a strangulation spell. Harry liked that one because a simple _Finite_ would not end it—there was a specific counter-curse. Either spell would be a painful way to go, something both Harry and Draco agreed would be fitting for Lord Voldemort after all the pain he’d caused so many people. Draco also found a spell that claimed to send something into space, and Harry had chuckled at the mental image of Voldemort’s body floating around the moon. They’d all agreed, though, that the spell was silly, and there was no actual proof it would work.

 

“Well, it’s getting close to six,” Remus observed. “We’ll have to continue this later.”

 

“It’s almost six?” Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. “Blimey, it’s quarter to! Give me just a few minutes, Remus; I want to change.”

 

He dashed upstairs, leaving Remus with Draco.

 

“How is he?” Remus asked immediately.

 

“He’s better. He needed some time.”

 

“Something happened last night?”

 

“Yes.” Draco hesitated before deciding to go ahead and tell Lupin. Harry considered Lupin family, and Lupin already suspected something was wrong. “Flashback. Bad one.”

 

Remus nodded slowly. “I thought so. He always has this look in his eyes the morning after he’s had a bad night. He never wants to talk about it, though—I’ve asked a few times, but he’s put me off, so I’ve left him be. I’ve never been sure if I was doing the right thing, though. I think he needs to talk. Is he talking to you?”

 

“Yes, we’ve talked a few times. We talked a lot today.”

 

“Good. It makes me feel better knowing he has you.”

 

Draco cocked his head. “I’m curious. How do you really feel about me being with Harry? He told me you said you’d support us, but I’d like to know, honestly, what you think.”

 

Remus smiled a little. “Are you expecting me to say I told Harry I’d support him but deep down I disapprove?”

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

“Then perhaps this will: I think you are very good for each other. Watching you learn to get along, then become friends, and then become more…it was an education. An entertaining one at times, I will admit. Harry’s always been strong, even as a child. Harry needs an equal, someone who understands him. I think he’s found that with you.

 

“There’s more to him than he lets most people see. He presents a certain image, even to his friends, and that image is part of who he is, but it’s not all of it. He’s quite different from his father in that regard—what you saw was what you got with James. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, just a difference between them. As he looks so much like his father, I think those of us who knew James do Harry the disservice of thinking he’s just like James, when he is really quite different in some very important ways. 

 

“I think you understand who he really is. Perhaps your experiences give you insight into one another—I don’t know. I told Harry I’d support him however it turned out between the two of you. I do support you. But I’m also happy for you. Both of you.”

 

Draco tried not to let his surprise show, but Lupin’s words really gave him pause. There was actually someone out there—someone who was close to Harry—who was _happy_ they were together?

 

“Thank you,” he said when he could find his voice. “I think I do understand him. I know he understands me better than anyone else has ever come close to doing.” He pushed aside the ingrained urge to keep how he felt private. This man—this friend—deserved some blunt honesty. “I’m fortunate, and I know it. I want you to know that. I don’t take Harry for granted.”

 

“It’s obvious you don’t—you needn’t worry I’d ever think that. And as Harry’s friends get to know you, they’ll become more accepting.”

 

“They’re not making it difficult for him now. That’s all that matters.”

 

For Harry’s sake, Remus hoped his friends would come around to accepting Draco more truly and being happy for him. But he also hoped it for Draco’s sake. The boy—man—was alone except for Harry. Remus counted Draco among his friends now, but wasn’t sure if Draco considered anyone his friend but Harry. He was one of the most cautious men Remus had ever met. Remus supposed he had good reason to be; he was not only the son of a cruel and notorious Death Eater, but he’d lived among the Death Eaters as a spy and was now viewed as a traitor by those who had once claimed him as one of their own. He had his own past actions to overcome as well when it came to people accepting him for who he was now. Remus didn’t envy him the road ahead of him but thought Harry would smooth the path better than anyone else ever could. But everyone needed friends, including Draco.

 

“You had a lot to do with that, seeing as you saved Ron’s life,” Remus said, chuckling as Draco grimaced.

 

Harry ended their conversation by coming back into the library. He had on nice trousers, a blue button-down, and a navy jumper. He even had on proper shoes. He looked rather smart. Draco hadn’t seen Harry in anything but jeans since they’d moved into Grimmauld, and he liked what he saw. 

 

“You look very nice,” he observed. “I’ve never seen you dressed this way.”

 

Harry looked down at himself. “It’s nothing special.”

 

Draco smiled to himself. Harry could stand in front of a magical mirror all day and have it tell him how good-looking he was a hundred times and never believe a word of it.

 

“Have a good time,” he said. He didn’t mind when Harry kissed him goodbye in front of Lupin. Harry was one for demonstrating how he felt, and Draco was gradually becoming a little more used to it, though if it had been someone other than Lupin, he knew he would have felt more uncomfortable.

 

“See you later,” Harry said. Draco said goodbye to Lupin and watched them head down to the kitchen to Floo to the Burrow. He was glad Harry had this birthday party with his friends to cheer him up—if he ever needed to build some happy memories, it was today.

 

Draco wandered upstairs and stared at the bed they’d never bothered making. He absently flicked his wand, and the bed tidied itself right up. But he kept staring at it, thinking about what Harry had told him about actually feeling the pain of being whipped again. He believed Harry—he didn’t think he was exaggerating. He’d seen the pain in Harry’s eyes as he stood there in the bathroom, and it had been the same look Draco had seen far too often when Harry was being tortured. It wasn’t just memory.

 

How could someone feel pain like that again when it wasn’t actually happening? How could Harry withstand going through it again—even though it hadn’t been real, it had _felt_ real, so it was like he had undergone a whipping again. Draco shuddered. He couldn’t fathom it.

 

He saw again in his mind Harry being whipped in that cellar, chained with his face to the wall. He made himself remember every time he’d seen it happen. He made himself remember how Harry had always struggled not to cry out at first but had always eventually screamed as the lashes continued. He tried to imagine what those lashes had felt like but knew whatever he imagined fell far, far short of what Harry felt actually experiencing it—experiencing it over and over. Simply imagining it made his back twitch, just as it had as he’d watched it being done to Harry, struggling to keep a completely neutral expression on his face.

 

He forced himself to remember every single crack of the whip, the sound of it whistling through the air, and Harry’s screams echoing off the stone walls. He felt his gorge rise but made himself remember the way the blood had poured from the slices in Harry’s skin, how it had slid greasily down his back during and after the attack. He made himself remember the way Harry’s body hung slack against the wall when it was over, dangling from the manacles around his wrists.

 

It didn’t really make sense, but he felt like if he forced himself to relive his own experience witnessing Harry’s torture, it somehow provided both a suitable punishment for himself and a kind of tribute to Harry’s strength and endurance. He knew Harry would say he deserved no punishment, but Draco felt like he did. He knew, rationally, that there was absolutely nothing he could have done that would have actually helped Harry in any way. He could have never stopped it. Trying to stop it would have only ended his own life and possibly made it even worse for Harry. Draco could clearly imagine how some of the Death Eaters like his aunt would have enjoyed chaining him up and making him watch them torture Harry some more, just to torment him.

 

Even though he knew all this rationally, ever since he’d fallen in love with Harry, he’d felt a terrible guilt. He’d somehow been able to keep himself mostly removed whenever he’d been forced to watch the torture. Lifelong training at controlling and supressing his emotions had made it possible, he supposed. It had been more difficult to remain cold when he’d been ordered to participate, but he’d mostly been able to hold himself one mental step back from what he was doing.

 

When he’d been allowed to go home, he’d forcibly put Harry Potter and whatever he’d witnessed or done that day out of his mind. He’d done the same whenever he’d come home after surviving a raid. It was a defence mechanism—he knew that. It had probably kept him from losing his mind or fleeing. He sometimes wondered why he wasn’t like his father—he was glad he wasn’t, but wondered how he’d escaped whatever gene caused someone to derive pleasure from hurting others. Lucius Malfoy had actively enjoyed every ounce of pain he inflicted upon Harry. He’d been one of the worse offenders, something else Draco had a hard time believing Harry didn’t hold against him.

 

So making himself relive Harry’s torture was his own way of punishing himself for not intervening, for simply standing there and watching him be flayed. Even though there was nothing he could have done, he felt sick knowing he hadn’t even tried. He’d put his own life ahead of Harry’s. At the time, self-preservation had been his number one goal. His only goal. But now, feeling as he did about Harry, he felt guilty for his own inaction. He could tell himself that everything had been different then because he certainly hadn’t loved Harry at the time. He could tell himself he’d eventually put self-preservation second by risking everything to get Harry out, but it didn’t fully assuage the self-loathing he sometimes felt. He didn’t think about it often, but last night had stirred everything up. He hoped these uncomfortable feelings would fade in time. He hoped even more these flashbacks of Harry’s would also disappear. It had hurt to see Harry in so much pain last night and today. He’d seen enough pain on Harry’s face to last several lifetimes. He never wanted to see it again.

 

 

************************************************************************* 

 

 

Harry and Remus returned home with a slice of cake for Draco (compliments of Molly), and it lifted Draco’s spirits to see Harry looking happy. Harry also came back a little tipsy, which amused Draco to no end. He’d obviously had a good time and made Draco laugh when he told of the prank the twins had played on their younger brother. Apparently Ron had rather gingerly opened their gift but had been very pleased to see a nice leather jacket. Hermione had unknowingly played into the twins’ hands by urging Ron to try it on. The moment he had it on, he’d turned into a human-sized violet rabbit. The twins had howled in laughter, and everyone else had joined in. Ron’s purple ears and tail had fallen off, and he’d returned to normal, giving his brothers a self-deprecating grin before laughing himself.

 

“The concept is similar to the Canary Creams,” Harry told Draco. “But it’s a temporary spell you can put on any item of clothing. When someone puts it on—poof! Instant rabbit.”

 

Draco laughed appreciatively. “I would have loved to have seen Weasley turned into a purple rabbit.”

 

Harry grinned. “I bet. I won’t be letting the twins anywhere near my clothing any time soon, trust me.” He took a step that wobbled a little, causing Draco to suppress a smile. “Oh! And I got to see Hedwig, my owl.”

 

“She’s a snowy owl, right?”

 

“Yes, and she’s wonderful. I took her to the Weasleys with me at Christmas, and she’s been staying there ever since, as we can’t have owls flying in and out here, and she hates to be cooped up. I miss her, though, so it was nice to see her.”

 

When they’d gone to bed later, Harry had initiated some rather intense lovemaking. Draco had felt there was a bit of an edge to Harry’s passion but said nothing. If sex helped Harry exorcise his demons, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

 

As he was prone to do, Harry propped himself up on his elbow to smile down at Draco afterwards. He traced his hand over Draco’s chest, occasionally brushing one of Draco’s still sensitive nipples and making Draco squirm.

 

Harry tilted his head and studied Draco thoughtfully. “When did you know you were attracted to men? I know you hadn’t been with one before me, but I’m guessing you’d at least considered a man as a sexual partner since you didn’t seem at all put off the first time I kissed you.”

 

Draco raised a brow. “What makes you ask?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Tonight was the first time any of the rest of the Weasleys had a chance to ask me about you.”

 

“They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” Draco asked sharply, starting to sit up. Harry pushed him back down.

 

“No, not at all. You saved Ron, remember? You have the official Weasley seal of approval.”

 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Oh, what smashing news.”

 

Harry laughed at Draco’s sarcasm and brushed a finger down his nose. “Anyway, George said something about the fact that me coming out as being gay got sort of buried under the shock of who I was, uh, being gay with.” He grinned as Draco chuckled at his phrasing. “They’re all totally fine with the fact I’m with a man, but I think it was a bit of a surprise to them. I had dated Ginny after all.”

 

“How did she take it?”

 

“Surprisingly well. She admitted to being a little shocked at first but then apparently decided that being bisexual is just the kind of thing Harry Potter would do because he can’t keep anything simple.” Harry flashed a grin again. “I thought that was pretty funny.”

 

Draco cocked his head. “Do you consider yourself bisexual or gay?”

 

Harry lifted a shoulder. “Since I’m madly in love with a man, I’d say I was pretty solidly gay.” He smiled. “So how did you know you were gay?”

 

“I didn’t really, not until I started having feelings for you. To answer your earlier question, I think I was fifteen the first time I caught myself looking at a male bum instead of a female one. My curiosity about men grew stronger as I got older. I liked sex with women, but I’d spend some time fantasising about men.” His lips quirked in a half-smile. “How did you know I wouldn’t kick your arse for kissing me? As far as you knew, I was straight.”

 

“The signals you were sending out were more bent than straight,” Harry said dryly.

 

“Signals?”

 

“I know when someone’s interested in me, and you do too. That time I was tickling you and almost kissed you, I saw the interest in your eyes. You weren’t looking at me with horror or disgust. Then the first time I did kiss you, I’d just caught you ogling my magnificent chest.” He smirked a little.

 

“I was not ogling you,” Draco protested, trying not to laugh.

 

“He denies the ogling but not that my chest is magnificent!” Harry crowed.

 

Draco smacked Harry with a pillow. “Oh, shut it.”

 

Harry grabbed the pillow from Draco and tossed it on the floor. Then he took Draco’s hand and placed it on his chest. Draco automatically tangled his fingers in the hair. “You know you like this. You looked at me that day the way I imagine I looked at you that night I caught you half-naked coming from the shower. That’s why I kissed you. I knew we both wanted to know what would happen.”

 

“I did want to know,” Draco admitted. “I’d wanted to know for a while what it would be like to kiss a man, and then I started wanting to know what it would be like if you were the man I kissed. I worked very hard to drive that thought out of my head, let me tell you. I had a very hard time believing I was attracted to Harry fucking Potter.”

 

Harry laughed. “You think I didn’t feel the same? That I didn’t think I was going mad to be wanking to thoughts of Draco fucking Malfoy?”

 

Draco grinned wolfishly. “Happened often, did it?”

 

“Often enough to stroke your ego,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Wasn’t my ego you were stroking then.”

 

Harry snorted. “No, it certainly wasn’t.” He slid a hand under the sheet and palmed Draco. “I think I’m in the mood for seconds now.”

 

“Are you?” Draco drawled, rubbing himself against Harry’s hand. “Far be it from me to keep you away from your wank material live and in the flesh.”

 

Harry laughed and leaned down to kiss Draco. Draco marvelled at Harry’s playful mood—his resiliency astounded him. When Harry changed the angle of the kiss and took it deeper, Draco stopped thinking entirely and just enjoyed his second helping of Harry Potter.

 

 

**********************************************************************************

 

 

“He’s going for Godric’s Hollow,” Snape announced at the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

 

Harry sucked in a breath, and Draco looked at him sharply. Godric’s Hollow? Wasn’t that the strange half-wizarding village Godric Gryffindor was from? Why had Harry reacted that way?

 

“The village has considerable significance for him,” Snape continued, “as Godric Gryffindor, Albus Dumbledore, and Harry Potter have all called it home at one time. ”

 

Well, that answered that question. Draco cut his eyes to Harry. He saw a bit of surprise on Harry’s face, though—perhaps Harry wasn’t all that knowledgeable about his former home.

 

“Is it safe for you to be telling us this?” Draco asked. “He won’t suspect it was you who told us?”

 

“No, he’s announced it to everyone, as it’s to be a full scale attack.”

 

Draco now knew why his Mark had burned the night before—there’d been a meeting to plan this attack.

 

“And we have friends in Godric’s Hollow who would certainly call for help in the event of an attack,” Dumbledore added. “We needn’t worry about our appearance there throwing suspicion on Severus.”

 

“When is the attack?” Tonks asked.

 

“Two days from now.”

 

“Days?” Arthur Weasley asked. “Not nights?”

 

“No, it’s to be a daylight attack, much as the one on Diagon Alley was.”

 

“We have to warn the residents,” McGonagall spoke up. “Fortunately, the town proper is rather lightly populated.”

 

“They will be warned,” Dumbledore assured her. “But we shall have to be very careful in warning them; we cannot tip off the Death Eaters that we are on to them. Tom will have spies in the village—none of the Order can be seen there in advance, and the residents will have to be very careful to go about their daily routines as if nothing were amiss.”

 

“Can we use the Floo network to warn them?” Hermione suggested. “At least the wizarding folk? I wish there was a way to warn the Muggles as well.”

 

“There’s not much to be done for the Muggles, but the Floo’s a good idea,” Moody said. “It would be best if people some of the residents already knew were to take on that responsibility.”

 

“Minerva and I are known to many residents,” Dumbledore said. “Would you be willing to help, Harry? Not only would everyone recognise you, but you are a former resident yourself.”

 

“I’d be glad to help,” Harry said. “Just let me know when.”

 

Using a map of Godric’s Hollow that McGonagall had brought along, they debated various strategies. As most of the members of the Order had never been to Godric’s Hollow, they relied primarily on Remus and Dumbledore to give them descriptions of the town and its environs.

 

Part of the problem was that they saw no way to begin a counter attack until one of the Godric’s Hollow residents contacted them. That would give the Death Eaters a head start on the attack, and people could be hurt. If they lay in wait, it would be obvious they’d known about the attack in advance, and that wasn’t a good idea. There was also the issue of Voldemort’s spies—multiple members of the Order couldn’t turn up in the town early and then hide until the Death Eaters arrived.

 

“Why don’t we ask some people if we can use their homes as Apparition points,” Ron suggested. “It would keep us from having to Apparate in out in the open and being ambushed like we were before in Brimley.”

 

“That’s a good idea, Ron,” Kingsley said. “If we could get five or six people who live near the centre of town to let us do that, it would allow us to move in fairly quickly.”

 

It was agreed that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Harry would ask for volunteers when they contacted the people of Godric’s Hollow to warn them of the planned attack. As they didn’t know yet which houses they’d be using, it was difficult to make a specific plan of attack, but they came up with several options to use. They’d choose and refine the final plan after they knew whose homes they’d be using.

 

Dumbledore informed them all that Draco had made enough Apparition Hoops for almost half of the Order to have one. Everyone would know who had a Hoop—and those people would receive instruction on how to use them—so if a retreat through Anti-Disapparition wards was needed, everyone could partner up. Harry didn’t realise his lover had already made so many. Draco spent time working on them often, but he hadn’t mentioned he’d made over fifteen.

 

The meeting broke up, and Harry agreed to meet Dumbledore and McGonagall at Hogwarts the next day to divvy up the list of people needing to be contacted. They’d also decide exactly what to tell people at that time.

 

As the other Order members left to return home, Hermione motioned Harry and Draco over to where she and Ron stood off to the side.

 

“We should try to find Nearly Headless Nick and ask him about the spell,” she said.

 

“Good idea,” Harry said. “How do we find him though?”

 

“Well, I suppose we could just call his name,” she replied, looking around the mostly deserted Great Hall. Raising her voice a little, she called, “Sir Nicholas? Can you hear me? We’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind.”

 

Draco raised his brows as the ghostly figure of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington floated through the wall and over to them almost immediately. The large ruff encircling his mostly severed neck bounced as the ghost clapped his hands gleefully.

 

“Visitors! Oh, how lovely to see you all!” He included Harry, Ron, and Hermione in his wide smile before frowning at Draco. “Hallo, who’s this? Former Slytherin, aren’t you?”

 

“Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin,” Draco said smoothly. He slid on the robes of an aristocrat, as suited his audience. “I’m Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

“A pleasure indeed. Tell me, how is it a Slytherin and three Gryffindors are gathered as one? It’s not the usual situation.”

 

“Draco and I are together,” Harry said, placing his hand at the small of Draco’s back.

 

“Together! Ah, well, they do say opposites attract, and there’s nothing quite so opposite a Gryffindor than a Slytherin.” He shook his head, and it wobbled a little. “My, how times have changed. In my day, two wizards wouldn’t dare to be seen together openly. Homosexuality was a dirty little secret.” Then he smiled slyly and gave them a little wink. “I always was good at keeping secrets.”

 

Harry grinned at him. “Good to know,” he said.

 

“Sir Nicholas,” Hermione said, drawing the ghost’s attention away from Harry and Draco. “We have a question we’d like to ask.”

 

“Ask away!” Sir Nicholas said, spreading his arms expansively. Draco decided to be amused rather than annoyed by the ghost’s theatrics.

 

“Is there a spell that can prevent someone from becoming a ghost when they die?”

 

“Well, well, well, that is an interesting question. Why do you ask?”

 

“We want to stop—” Ron broke off when Draco stepped on his foot.

 

“—stop a terrible person from becoming a ghost and bothering you all. There’s a very old wizard who lives near my parents’ home, and he’s quite simply horrible. Not at all someone you’d fancy socialising with for all eternity.”

 

“Do tell!” Sir Nicholas said, eyes gleaming with a pearly sheen.

 

“He’s as mean as a snake,” Draco said, smirking a little. “And trust me, I know quite well how mean snakes can be. I’m not overly fond of dogs, but even I draw the line at chopping up puppies to make into potions.”

 

Hermione’s eyes were as wide as saucers as Draco spun his tale, and Ron was looking at him like he’d never seen him before. It was all Harry could do to stifle his laugh.

 

“Puppies!” Sir Nicholas exclaimed. “I love dogs. How terrible!”

 

“When we were children, if we ever ventured too close to his property, he’d come out brandishing his wand. He’d try to hex us. I got hit by a stinging hex once, and my friend couldn’t sit down for a week after a paddling spell got a hold of him.”

 

“Dreadful!” Sir Nicholas declared, though he actually looked rather delighted.

 

Draco lowered his voice, and Sir Nicholas leaned in, obviously expecting something juicy. “It’s said he attacked a young woman once, years ago, and had his way with her, but it could never be proven. The poor girl was so traumatised, she’d faint if she caught sight of him in town. Her family had to move far away. He was shunned after that, but in recent years he’s been turning up at a local pub, proclaiming his great desire to become a ghost when he dies. Seems he took quite a shine to the Bloody Baron while he was a student here at Hogwarts and wants to be just like him.”

 

“The Bloody Baron!” Sir Nicholas’ eyes darted around the room as if just by saying his name Draco could summon him. Perhaps he could. “Our world does not need another Bloody Baron!”

 

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” Harry agreed. “Which is why we thought it might be best to prevent him from becoming a ghost at all. Do you know a way, Nick?”

 

“I do. Such a foul creature does not deserve the honour of becoming one of us. I shall teach you the spell. I’d like you to perform it on him quickly, lest he die unexpectedly.”

 

“Excellent,” Draco said. “I’m so happy we can be of service to you this way.”

 

Sir Nicholas pulled out his ghostly wand and showed them all the proper wand motions.

 

“And now for the incantation: _Phasma Prohibeo_.”

 

“Simple enough,” Ron commented, moving his wand as the ghost had shown them.

 

“Sir Nicholas, we thank you. Your knowledge will benefit us all,” Draco said with a respectfully deep nod of his head.

 

“Of course! I’m always happy to share my knowledge with young people such as you. You will take care of this ghastly man straightaway, won’t you?”

 

“At the first opportunity,” Harry promised.

 

Draco leaned in again and shifted his eyes right and left as if checking to see if anyone was watching them. “I think it’d be best if we kept this conversation just between us. A secret. Just in case.”

 

“Right you are!” Sir Nicholas agreed, his eyes gleaming at the idea of a secret. “Mum’s the word.”

 

“It’s been lovely chatting with you, but I’m afraid we must be going now,” Harry said. “See you later, Nick.”

 

The others said their goodbyes, and Nearly Headless Nick floated away, humming a happy little tune.

 

Harry flipped his fingers and cast a privacy spell. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look at the casual bit of wandless magic, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. Draco had gotten rather used to seeing Harry do common spells wandlessly, but the look they gave each other made him aware that not everyone was. He might mention that to Harry later.

 

“That was brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, pulling Draco to him for a smacking kiss.

 

“Potter, control yourself,” Draco said, slightly embarrassed by Harry’s display. Merlin, he hoped he wasn’t blushing.

 

Harry waved Draco’s comment away. “Seriously, Draco, that really was brilliant.”

 

“None of that story is true, is it?” Hermione asked.

 

Draco smirked. “Not a word.”

 

“Why on earth did you come up with such a story?” Ron wanted to know.

 

“I didn’t think it wise to be telling a Hogwarts ghost our true purpose for wanting to know. Ghosts are known gossips, and seeing as they can leave the castle if they choose, it’s safer he doesn’t know so there’s no way it can get back to Voldemort.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ron admitted.

 

For Harry’s sake, Draco held back a snide remark.

 

“I didn’t know you were such an accomplished storyteller, love,” Harry said.

 

“I have my moments,” Draco said, looking a little smug.

 

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t true,” Hermione commented. “That old man you made up sounded perfectly horrible.”

 

“The way you brought in the Bloody Baron was genius,” Harry said.

 

Draco smirked again. “It was, wasn’t it?”

 

Harry and Hermione laughed, and even Ron cracked a smile.

 

“Well, now that we’re done with the entertainment portion of our evening, we’d best be getting on,” Ron said.

 

“I sincerely hope the entertainment portion of _my_ evening isn’t over,” Draco drawled, giving Harry a deliberately slow once over.

 

“Draco!” Harry laughed as he cuffed his boyfriend on the arm. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing them.”

 

Sure enough, Hermione’s cheeks were a little pink. Ron just looked sour.

 

“Do you mind?” he said. “You’ll put me off the leftover birthday cake waiting for me at home.”

 

“As if that were even possible,” Harry teased.

 

Harry continued joking with Ron as they walked to the Floo fireplace. Hermione dropped back to walk with Draco.

 

“How is he?” she asked quietly. “He seemed a little…off last night when he first arrived.”

 

Draco considered whether or not to say anything. He knew Harry had told his friends he’d experienced flashbacks, but he didn’t know if should say anything more.

 

Hermione saw his hesitation. “I’m sorry, I’m putting you in a bad position by asking you that. I’m just worried about him.”

 

Draco could see she was. “The other night was rough,” he finally said.

 

Hermione sighed. “I was afraid of that. He’s always been prone to nightmares and vivid dreams. He told us he’d had some flashbacks, and that they usually started when he was asleep.”

 

Draco looked at her steadily. He didn’t say a word, but he knew she understood what he was confirming.

 

“Were you with him? I mean to say…” she trailed off, obviously realising she was asking what could be construed as a personal question.

 

“Was I in bed with him? Yes,” Draco said. “We share a room.”

 

Hermione nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad he had someone with him.”

 

“Even me?” Draco couldn’t help but asking.

 

Hermione regarded him seriously. “I won’t say I’m used to it yet, but if Harry says he loves you, he loves you. I can’t imagine what he goes through sometimes, but it makes me feel better to know he’s with someone he loves if it happens.”

 

Draco was reminded of his conversation with Lupin. “You have my word I’ll be there for him if it happens again.”

 

“I believe you,” Hermione said. “Thank you.”

 

Draco nodded and then lifted his head when he heard Harry call his name.

 

“Hurry up, you two! Were you turned into turtles?”

 

Draco and Hermione exchanged their first real smile. It was good to hear him sounding normal.

 

“After you,” Draco said, sweeping out his arm.

 

Hermione giggled and preceded him to the fireplace.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two

 

 

Harry spent the next morning at Hogwarts Flooing people in Godric’s Hollow. The residents were naturally scared but felt reassured knowing the Order and Aurors would arrive right away to help when the Death Eaters attacked. Harry was glad he wasn’t the Lockhart type who let fame go to his head because the way he was greeted with awe by pretty much everyone he talked to would have really inflated his ego.

 

There were many people who were willing to let them use their homes as Apparition points, and eventually five on the town square were chosen along with a sixth on the outskirts of town that could be used as a place to take any wounded if necessary. When the Order met again that evening, they would mark the homes chosen on the map and assign everyone a location. Dumbledore had informed the Aurors about the attack, so hopefully they would be on the alert and able to quickly arrive and assist the Order in the fight.

 

“There sure are a lot of people in Godric’s Hollow who remember me from when I was a baby,” Harry said to Remus and Draco when he got back home. “My fire-calls took twice as long as Dumbledore and McGonagall’s because almost everyone had to tell me about how much they liked my parents and how they’d thought I was such a ‘cute baby’.” He made a face at this, and Draco laughed.

 

“You were a cute baby,” Remus agreed, smiling at Harry fondly. “You had a ton of black hair, and your eyes were such a bright green. You were a very happy baby. Your mother used to say she was lucky to have a child with such a good temperament.”

 

“Really? Well, I’m glad I wasn’t the fussy sort.”

 

“Have you never been back to Godric’s Hollow?” Draco asked.

 

Harry shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to go. Just haven’t had an opportunity.”

 

“I’m sorry the first time you’ll be seeing it as an adult will be during a battle,” Remus said sadly. “But if you ever want to go later, after this war is over, I’ll be glad to show you around.”

 

“I’d love that,” Harry said. “I know a good bit of the house was destroyed when Voldemort tried to kill me, but I’d still like to see it, if there’s anything left after all this time.”

 

“It’s still there,” Remus said. “Sirius had a need to go, so we went one day. It’s protected by wards. And it’s technically yours now that you’re of age.”

 

“Huh,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I reckon it is, isn’t it? All the more reason I should go see it. Hard to believe I own two properties at age seventeen.”

 

“Why did your parents choose to settle there?” Draco asked. “Was it your father’s home?”

 

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been told,” Harry said, looking to Remus.

 

“The Potter family has lived there for generations. When James married Lily, they moved there, put up a house on some property James’ father gave him.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Harry said. “I know so little about them or anyone from my family other than the Dursleys. And I don’t like to claim them.”

 

“Have you never looked into the Potter side of your family?” Draco asked, surprised.

 

“No.”

 

“The Potters are a very old wizarding family. Your history will be in books of wizarding genealogy. There’s likely a book or two here in the library that has some information.”

 

“Really?” Harry tilted his head. “It never occurred to me to look. I’ll have to do that soon.”

 

“If you’d been raised properly, you’d have been taught all this starting at a young age. I don’t recall any specifics, but I know I read about Potters when I had to study my own family’s history and that of other pure-blood families.”

 

“Aren’t you related to Molly Weasley?” Harry asked, remembering Molly had said once that she and Sirius were some sort of cousins.

 

“Yes, she’s a distant cousin, as is Arthur Weasley—both through the Black side of my family,” Draco said, keeping his expression neutral. “I wasn’t required to learn about families viewed as blood-traitors, but I did read a little out of curiosity. Most of the older wizarding families are related somewhere along the line.”

 

“You mean you and I could be related?”

 

“I don’t recall any Potters on the Malfoy family tree, but there’s one on the Black tree here, so I suppose in a distant, convoluted way, we are.”

 

“Well, I hope it’s really distant, as I don’t like the idea of sleeping with a relative,” Harry joked. Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“Anyway, anything exciting happen while I was gone?” Harry asked, not expecting that anything had.

 

Draco glanced at Remus, who nodded for him to go ahead.

 

“The desiccation spell works on both spiders and toads,” he said.

 

“You tried it? Without me?”

 

“It wasn’t necessary for you to be here when we experimented,” Remus said mildly, with an understanding look in his eye. “If you feel the need to practice the spell yourself, you certainly can.”

 

Harry thought about that and decided he wouldn’t be irritated by the fact he’d been spared watching a toad be desiccated.

 

“So what’s the verdict? Does it work quickly enough?”

 

“It was very quick with the spider,” Draco said, “but it took longer with the toad.”

 

“Just under two minutes,” Remus confirmed.

 

“Hmmm,” Harry mused. “Two minutes in battle can feel like a very long time, and as a human is larger than a toad, it might take even longer.”

 

“Right,” Draco said. “Which is why I’m in favour of continuing to look for something better and keeping this spell as a secondary choice to be used depending on the situation. The toad did appear to immediately feel something because it became agitated.”

 

“Good to know,” Harry said, not really wanting to know at all. Why killing a toad bothered him so much he didn’t know, especially since he didn’t seem to have a serious problem killing humans when necessary in battle. Of course, toads weren’t evil Dark wizards trying to kill him…

 

“If nothing else, we thought it might be useful for Nagini,” Remus put in.

 

“Oh, good call,” Harry agreed. “We should all learn the spell then, so whoever sees her can deal with her.”

 

“I’m not sure Hermione realises it, but the spell could be classified as Dark magic when used against a human,” Remus cautioned. “It’s actually a spell used in potions labs, so it’s not classified as Dark, but it could be viewed that way. I know Hermione’s not comfortable with Dark spells.”

 

“I’ll explain it to her, or, better, you can, and let her decide if she wants to learn it,” Harry said.

 

“That sounds like a good idea.”

 

“Speaking of Dark magic, I’d like to train today, get geared up for the battle tomorrow,” Harry said.

 

“All right,” Remus said.

 

“I’d already planned on it,” Draco said. “Now?”

 

“After lunch,” Harry suggested. “I’m hungry.”

 

They ate a quick meal and then all trained together. They took turns being attackers and defenders, duelled, and used the practice dummy as well. Remus had them working on reducing the amount of time it took between casting different spells.

 

At one point, when it was Draco and Remus against Harry, Harry did something that surprised all of them, including himself.

 

Remus made a frontal attack while Draco came in from the side. Harry used the wand in his right hand to cast a Stunner at Remus, and at the same time shot out his left hand in Draco’s direction. A shield appeared and blocked Draco’s spell.

 

Remus and Draco both stopped dead and stared at Harry.

 

“Potter, did you just cast two spells simultaneously?” Draco asked, a note of awe tingeing his voice.

 

“Uh…” Harry said eloquently. “Um, not really at the exact same time. I just did them one after another in my head: Stunner, shield.”

 

“You didn’t say anything—you cast them both nonverbally, one wandlessly—and a shield at that—and for all intents and purposes, simultaneously,” Remus said slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Harry bit his lip. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No, no, not at all,” Remus hastened to assure him, with a little chuckle that echoed the disbelief on his face. “I’m just a little…well, speechless.”

  
“I’m taking it you didn’t plan to try to do that?” Draco asked.

 

“No, I just sort of…did it,” Harry said, shrugging. “I needed to deal with both of you coming at me, and I just thought both of the spells, one of top of the other and…it worked.”

 

After a moment of silence, with all of them just standing there trying to absorb what Harry had done, Draco smirked.

 

“Power,” he drawled in satisfaction. “My boyfriend has it in spades.”

 

Harry and Remus laughed. 

 

“I think you should practise it more,” Draco continued. “Being able to react that fast—defend and attack at the same time—could be very beneficial in a fight.”

 

“I agree,” Remus said.

 

“All right,” Harry said, motivated by the new challenge. “Let’s do this.”

 

At first Harry had a hard time doing it consciously—he’d think too much and wouldn’t be able to perform the spells as rapid-fire as he had the first time. Then he started trusting his instincts more, like he usually did when fighting, and started being able to perform his new skill more consistently. By the time they called a stop, he was a little tired but exhilarated.

 

“That was bloody brilliant!” he enthused. “You have to try it, Draco.”

 

Draco shook his head. “My wandless skills aren’t as strong as yours. I’d need to beef them up first.”

 

“Then we’ll work on that,” Harry decided. “God, I’m starving. Anyone else want a snack?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Sure.”

 

They went downstairs, and while Remus and Draco had some fruit, Harry made a small sandwich to go with his.

 

“I think I expended a lot energy today,” he commented.

 

“I’m sure you did,” Remus said. “But the more you practice that skill, I bet it will become easier.”

 

Harry nodded. “Pretty much like everything else I’ve ever learned when it comes to magic—or anything, really.”

 

“True,” Remus said. “Well, I’ve enjoyed working with you both very much today—it’s been rather eye-opening. But unless we want to starve, I’ve got to do the marketing now. Any special requests?”

 

“Sut un vingr kisp,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s lack of manners. Remus smiled and shook his head.

 

Harry swallowed. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Salt and vinegar crisps, please.”

 

“I’ll add it to the list. See you later.”

 

After Remus left and they’d finished their snack, Harry asked, “That decapitation spell you mentioned earlier—do you know it?”

 

“I recognised the incantation when my father tried to use it against me, but I don’t know the wand movements, so I can’t cast it.”

 

“I want to learn it,” Harry said. “Think we can find it in a book here?”

 

Draco shrugged. “There are lots of Dark Arts books here—we probably can. It’s not obscure. Why do you want to learn it? Have you decided you want to use it against Voldemort?”

 

“Possibly,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking. I’d like to have a few spells ready to use. Then depending on what the situation is when I finally confront Snake-face, I can choose what I think will work best. As much as I like the idea of sucking him dry with the desiccation spell, I’m concerned it will act too slowly to be effective in a duel. Using it on his body after I’ve killed him is a strong possibility, as is fire, but I’m thinking I need something very quick and decisive to actually kill him.”

 

“And you still don’t want to rely on the Killing Curse?”

 

Harry shook his head. “No. I can’t really explain why. It’s just this feeling I have that it won’t work right against him. I don’t want to take any chances. He can’t come back again.”

 

“Agreed. I’ll follow your instincts on this one. Let’s look for the decapitation spell—that is certainly a quick and decisive way to end someone.”

 

It took them some time, and they had to look through several different books, but they finally found it. After they’d learned the incantation and the wand movements, Harry frowned.

 

“How are we going to practice this?”

 

Draco thought for a moment. “We’ll transfigure something into dummies. Pillows should work.”

 

“All right. There’s a cupboard on the second floor. I’ll go get some.”

 

Harry brought back several pillows, and they went into the training room to transfigure them. Harry got cute by making both of his look like Voldemort.

 

“For inspiration,” he declared flippantly.

 

Draco lifted a brow. Then he transfigured one of his pillows into a figure strongly resembling Bellatrix. Harry grinned.

 

“Nice one. Well, who goes first?”

 

Draco motioned for Harry to go ahead. Harry focussed his power and cast the spell. Dummy-Voldemort’s head flew off and flopped to the floor, scattering feathers everywhere.

 

“Excellent,” Harry said with great satisfaction.

 

Draco took his turn. His decapitation of Dummy-Bellatrix wasn’t as clean as Harry’s; it severed the head, but it was left dangling from the neck by a strip of fabric, much like Nearly Headless Nick’s.

 

“Difficult spell,” Draco muttered to himself. He practised a few more times until he was satisfied he could do it properly.

 

“I’d like to practise the strangulation spell, too, but I can’t think of any way to do that,” Harry said.

 

Draco thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I can’t either, at least not any way that doesn’t involve a mammal of some sort, and I don’t think you could kill a dog.”

 

“A dog!” Harry was horrified. “There’s no way I’d kill a dog!”

 

“I know that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I couldn’t do it either. So we can just practise the strangulation spell without actually testing it. We could practise that fire spell you liked, too.”

 

Harry agreed, and they learnt both spells. They tested the fire spell outside on some wood, and Harry practised the desiccation spell on a spider while he was outside as well.

 

As they were tidying up the training room, Harry said, “Listen, Draco. Don’t tell the others about these spells, all right?”

 

“Too Dark for them?”

 

“Yeah, especially Hermione. The ones we found when we were researching together, like the desiccation spell, aren’t Dark in and of themselves. If one were to desiccate or condense or shrink an apple, it would be absolutely fine. Decapitation and strangulation spells? They’re obviously Dark because their only purpose is to kill a person. She’ll try and convince me not to use them, and I don’t want to get into an argument over it.”

 

“She does realise we’re researching ways for you to _kill_ , doesn’t she? Whatever spell you use, be it one with multiple purposes, or one designed specifically to kill, is being used with the intention of causing death. The action could be seen as Dark even if the spell used isn’t officially labelled as such.”

 

“I know,” Harry said. “And to be honest, I agree with you. But Hermione has a very definite interpretation of what makes a spell Dark: its sole purpose is to cause harm. She knows intent is involved, but I think it’s easier for her to make things very black and white when it comes to Dark magic. For her, using a spell that isn’t classified as Dark to kill is somehow better than using a Dark spell.” He grimaced a little as he ran a hand through his hair, unsure of how to explain something he knew at a gut level to Draco, who was staring at him sceptically. “I know it doesn’t sound rational, and if I pressed her to explain it, I don’t think she could do so logically. But she knows I have to kill, and it bothers her. If thinking it’s better for me to use a non-Dark spell to kill makes her feel better, it’s fine with me.”

 

Draco just continued to look at Harry for a moment before rolling his eyes. “You do realise that kind of rationalisation is bullshit, don’t you? And, Merlin, so very, very Gryffindor.”

 

Harry glared at Draco. “I know it sounds illogical, but if it eases her mind to think that way, who cares? Haven’t you ever used what is really a silly reason to rationalise or excuse something you’ve done? You even know it’s silly, but you do it anyway because it makes you feel better.”

 

“I can’t say that I have,” Draco said blandly. “As I said, perhaps it’s a Gryffindor trait.”

 

“And if it’s a Gryffindor trait, it has to be stupid?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“No, but you implied it,” Harry retorted, heating up.

 

“Merlin, Harry, calm down. Just because I said it was a Gryffindor-ish thing to do doesn’t mean I was impugning the reputation of all of Gryffindor house.”

 

Harry glared at Draco a moment longer before relenting. He blew out a breath and laughed at himself a little. “I guess I overreacted, didn’t I? All it took was mentioning Gryffindor, and I was back at school with you. And since you never had a kind word about Gryffindors in school, I fell right back in to defending my house from you.”

 

Draco smirked. “As I recall, you wasted a lot of breath trying to defend Gryffindor.”

 

“Oh, shut it,” Harry groused. Draco laughed.

 

“Granger’s odd rationalisations of using magic to kill aside, I think you’re right—we shouldn’t be advertising the fact that either of us is using Dark magic at all. You’d take some flak for it.”

 

“And you’d be blamed for exposing me to the Dark Arts,” Harry pointed out dryly. “As if I hadn’t ever been exposed to them before—say as a baby when I survived the Killing Curse.”

 

“True,” Draco agreed. He cast a quick _Tempus_ charm. “I think I have time to work on the Apparition Hoops before dinner and the Order meeting. Is that all right?”

 

“Of course,” Harry said. “It’s my turn to cook anyway. Good luck with the Hoops.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They parted ways. Harry found Remus in the kitchen and helped him put away the marketing before making dinner. After the kitchen was cleaned up, they all Flooed to Hogwarts.

 

At the meeting, the houses they would be using as Apparition points were labelled on the maps, and everyone was assigned one of them and given the Apparition coordinates. Of course, if people weren’t comfortable Apparating, they could still Floo.

 

The newest members of the Order were introduced at the meeting as well. Two Healers, both friends of Madam Pomfrey’s, were sworn in and immediately given assignments. One would be in the Hogwarts infirmary with Pomfrey, while the other, Healer Xenocamphus Ogden, would be stationed at the sixth house outside of town where the wounded would be brought for triage. Dumbledore also assigned two of the newer members Harry didn’t really know to serve as what Harry mentally dubbed an “Apparition Ambulance”: if someone needed to be taken to Hogwarts or St Mungo’s, the two men were both capable of long-distance Apparition and could side-along the injured person. Molly didn’t seem overly pleased, but Ginny had been asked to work with Hagrid bringing the injured from the gates of Hogwarts to the infirmary.

 

The meeting didn’t last long; everyone knew to be ready at a moment’s notice the next day. Snape didn’t know the exact time Voldemort planned to strike. He’d been told to go to Voldemort at nine in the morning to help with preparations, so it could be any time after that.

 

The Grimmauld Place residents returned home and almost immediately retired to their rooms. Harry was edgy and anxious, pacing the length of the room and driving Draco crazy, so he finally shoved him onto the bed and subdued him with sex.

 

Lying in bed afterwards, with the lights off and Draco’s arms around him, Harry said softly, “I’m worried about the battle tomorrow. About you.”

 

He felt the brush of Draco’s lips against the back of his neck and was comforted. “I’m worried about you, too.”

 

“It’s the first time since we’ve really been together that there’s been a fight. I knew I was in love with you at the Battle of Little Whinging, but it was so new, and I didn’t know how you felt about me, and we weren’t _together_ together, and I…”

 

Draco brought his hand up off Harry’s chest to place a finger against his lips and stop his rambling. “I know.”

 

There was a long, contemplative silence. Then Harry said, “I’m so completely in love with you.”

 

Draco kissed the back of Harry’s neck again. “And I’m so completely in love with you.”

 

 

******************************************************************************

 

 

They got the shortest fire-call on record from McGonagall the next morning just before eleven.

 

“It’s now,” she said, and then her head vanished from the flames.

 

Harry, Draco, and Remus dashed to the Apparition point in the back of the house. Harry grabbed Draco for a quick but powerful kiss and then whispered against his lips, “I love you. Stay safe.”

 

“Keep the man I love safe, too,” Draco replied.

 

They departed for their assigned house. After only brief nods at the anxious homeowners, they made their way outside to engage the Death Eaters they saw attacking homes and businesses.

 

Harry didn’t have time to take a look around his former hometown. Made anonymous by his new glamour and dressed in robes to further his disguise, Harry attacked a Death Eater about to enter a small shop. He subdued the man quickly, Stunning him, binding him, and spelling him with the Anti-Disapparition jinx. He and Draco had agreed to keep near one another, so he turned to look for him and saw him by a statue in the centre of the town square, right in the thick of things.

 

Harry joined Draco, and they fought side-by-side and sometimes back-to-back. Everything became a blur of casting spells, casting shields, and movement. Harry was a bit startled the first time he came across a motionless Death Eater completely entangled in what appeared to be a giant spider’s web—one of the twins’ new weapons, he remembered. A relatively small ball could be thrown at someone and when the person was hit, the ball would rapidly expand and ensnare its victim, petrifying him in the process. Harry had thought it quite clever when George had enthusiastically described to him and thought it even more so when he saw the results.

 

Harry knew they’d been fighting for a while when he saw Draco go down out of the corner of his eye. Terror swamped him, great greasy waves of it, and he didn’t think twice—he killed the Death Eater who had moved in to finish Draco off and dropped to Draco’s side.

 

He shielded himself and Draco with a thought. His heart clutched and a thousand horrible thoughts crowded his mind when he saw the expression of pain contorting Draco’s face and the way he was lying on the ground, completely stiff. No, no, no, no…

 

_“Finite incantatem!”_ he shouted, pointing his wand at Draco and hoping it worked. He saw Draco relax a little, but then he began shaking violently. When Harry reached out to touch him, he realised Draco was freezing cold. He literally felt like a piece of ice.

 

Shoving the panic down deep inside him, he grabbed Draco’s arm and Apparated with him to the triage house. They arrived in a bedroom, and Healer Ogden rushed over immediately.

 

“He’s freezing,” Harry said shortly, flexing his hand. In the short time he’d held Draco’s arm, it had gone numb. “I used _Finite,_ but I’m not sure it completely worked.”

 

“Organ-freezing spell,” Ogden said after casting a few spells and examining Draco. He cast a warming charm on Draco. “You did the right thing. Do you know how long he’d been under its effect before you ended the spell?”

 

“Under a minute.”

 

“Good. There should be only minor, reversible damage, if any.”

 

Harry heaved a sigh of relief; as some of the tension left his body, he felt a little lightheaded.

 

Ogden motioned to a man Harry only knew as McGrath and began scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment. He handed the parchment to McGrath and said, “Take this gentleman to Hogwarts. Here are the instructions for Madam Pomfrey.”

 

“Just a moment,” Harry said. He needed to see _Draco_. He waved his wand and the glamour disguising Draco melted away. Ogden appeared startled.

 

“Security measure,” Harry explained. He brushed Draco’s hair off his freezing forehead and kissed it before reluctantly stepping away. 

 

Harry wanted, badly, to go with Draco to Hogwarts, but knew he was needed in the fight. Draco was still unconscious, and it was difficult for Harry to watch him vanish with McGrath. Hoping Healer Ogden knew what he was talking about, and Draco would be fine, Harry thanked the man then returned to the battle.

 

To avoid popping in at the wrong place and getting himself cursed, he Apparated back into the same home he’d arrived in and muttered a quick “sorry” to the startled people who lived there. He yanked aside a curtain from a front window to survey the scene; the battle was still going strong. Seeing Death Eaters attacking his friends, feeling the fear for Draco and the frustration he couldn’t do more for him, Harry let the anger come. It was there, he felt like it was always there, so he’d use it. His eyes cold and determined, he ran back outside.

 

He felt his scar tingle and was glad he’d remembered to keep his Occlumency shields up this time. Harry scanned the area for Voldemort but didn’t immediately see him. He re-joined the fight, keeping an eye open for his nemesis.

 

It wasn’t long before twinges of pain in his scar let Harry know he was getting closer. He finally spied Voldemort standing off to one side next to a partially destroyed building, guarded by at least four Death Eaters.

 

Harry allowed the hatred to build, but he kept it tightly reined. He weaved his way across the battleground, fighting when necessary, but his goal was reaching Voldemort. He ducked around the back of the building and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. Cloaked, he peered around the corner of the building and saw Voldemort standing with his back to him. Perfect.

 

Harry parted the Cloak just enough to use his wand and whispered, _“Phasma Prohibeo.”_

 

He’d wondered if he’d know the spell had worked. Voldemort gave him his answer by jerking as the spell hit and then whirling around, red eyes narrowed. The red shield he’d used earlier against Dumbledore in Little Whinging shimmered into place, and Harry cursed to himself. He wouldn’t be able to follow up with anything deadlier. He ducked back behind the building and made for the far corner of the back wall. Voldemort must have ordered his Death Eaters to have a look around because two came around the corner. There was nowhere for Harry to hide, so he simply stayed motionless, ready to fight at any moment.

 

The Death Eaters didn’t do much more than quickly visually sweep the area, though, before returning to their master. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to get into a fight with a shielded Voldemort and four Death Eaters behind a building where no one could see him to know if he needed assistance.

 

Reluctantly giving up on Voldemort for the moment, he removed his Cloak and returned to the battle. It might have been wishful thinking, but he thought there were less Death Eaters fighting than there had been when he’d arrived. He was moving towards the centre of the square again when he was hit in the back with _Expelliarmus_. Alert as he was for sneak attacks, he managed to hang on to his wand and spun to face his attacker. He was instantly caught up in a vicious duel which soon became two against one.

 

Harry used his full arsenal of spells and landed a few hits, but the two Death Eaters he was up against were good. He wondered if the Death Eaters were ones who had tortured him and let the rage and need for revenge come. Revenge for himself and Draco. A sweet darkness gushed through him, coursing through his bloodstream like adrenaline. He wanted their pain. He could _taste_ it.

 

He used his wand to shield himself from something he knew was probably very nasty and simultaneously shot out an _Incendio_ with his left hand, catching the hem of one of the Death Eater’s robes. The man shrieked, but it didn’t take long before he doused the flames and was back on Harry again.

 

“Need a hand?” Harry heard a familiar voice call and then Tonks was next to him, taking on one of the Death Eaters. Things were a bit more evenly matched for a few minutes until a third Death Eater joined in and skewed the odds again. Harry allowed the violence he kept buried deep to bubble to life, and his spells took on an even Darker, nastier edge. He alternated between using his wand and casting wandlessly and finally felt like he was gaining some ground.

 

He threw one of his attackers off balance by hitting him with the Tarantallegra, and while the man was dancing uncontrollably, attempted to Stun him. His spell flew wide of his mark, however, when he had to jump aside to avoid a beam of golden light from another of his opponents. Frustrated, Harry retaliated by slashing his chest with a cutting curse. Then he staggered back as he was hit by what felt like a boulder to the chest. He managed to keep his feet, but only barely. A fire spell caught his sleeve before he’d fully recovered his balance, so he wound up on the ground anyway, rolling to put out the flames and attempting to shield himself at the same time.

 

Tired of this game, and with a bleeding Death Eater bearing down on him, Harry shot out his wand. _“Astrangulo!”_

 

The Death Eater’s wand fell to the ground as his hands scrabbled at his throat. His face below his mask darkened to a deep purple as he collapsed and writhed on the ground. His body spasmed, his heels thrummed, and then stilled.

 

Panting, Harry pushed up to his knees. He couldn’t help himself; he took a split second to look at the face of the man he’d just killed. He had to know if—yes. Yes, he’d just killed one of the men who’d tortured him. He didn’t have time to analyse the emotions that seethed within him—he did his best to shove them aside as he shielded himself yet again.

 

Then he watched, horrified, as a jet of orange light hit Tonks and knocked her to the ground. He slashed a cutting curse at the Death Eater who’d hit Tonks. The man went down screaming as he clutched at the side Harry’s spell had ripped open. Two Death Eaters down, one to go. Harry focussed and channelled his power. Positioning himself in front of Tonks, he came on strong, attacking and attacking, blasting out spells both with and without his wand. The Death Eater dodged a Stunner, and his return spell nearly connected with Harry, but he shielded in time, and the spell bounced back at his masked opponent.

 

Then there was this little tickle at the back of his mind—a kind of sixth sense. Using his wand to flick a repelling charm at the Death Eater he was fighting, he simultaneously pivoted to his left and shielded himself just in time. The Death Eater he’d taken down with the cutting curse had regained his wits and had fired a spell. Crossing his hands, Harry swung the shield he was maintaining with his left hand towards the first Death Eater and petrified the cut Death Eater with his wand. He dropped the shield and slashed his wand furiously at the one remaining Death Eater. _“Stupefy!”_ he shouted.

 

The last Death Eater fell to the ground, Stunned. Flipping out his hand and his wand, he had both Death Eaters bound and spelled with the Anti-Disapparition jinx in a trice. Then he rushed over to Tonks, who was lying on the ground clutching her right arm. 

 

“It went completely numb,” she said. “I couldn’t feel anything. But the feeling is coming back now. It’s all pins and needles.”

 

“Are you all right otherwise?” Harry asked, his eyes roaming the area for potential danger.

 

“Yeah, I’m all right. Help me up, will you?”

 

Harry pulled her to her feet, still monitoring the area. The battle had died down a lot. It looked to be almost over.

 

“Thanks for the assist against those three,” Harry said to Tonks, his breath still coming a bit heavily.

 

“Likewise,” Tonks said, rubbing her arm briskly. “Nice glamour, by the way, Harry.”

 

Harry grinned, having forgotten about his disguise. “How’d you know it was me?”

 

“Your voice,” she replied, grinning back at him. 

 

Standing there, they realised the tide of the battle had turned in their favour. There were only a handful of Death Eaters left fighting, though many lay on the ground. Harry whirled and cursed when he saw that Voldemort had gone. Well, at least he’d been able to cast the anti-ghost spell.

 

“Voldemort’s fled,” he said shortly. Even as he spoke, several Death Eaters Disapparated. Harry started to move to assist Moody, who was still duelling one, but Moody took him down before Harry could reach them. Then it was over.

 

Harry saw Dumbledore across the square, and he and Tonks started over to him. He removed his glamour as they walked. As they waited for more of the Order to gather, Harry finally noticed the pain in his left arm where he’d been burned by the fire spell. His skin was seared red, and he grimaced looking at it. Ah, well, a new type of injury. He’d never been burned during this war before.

 

The desire to get the burn treated reminded him yet again that he wanted to get to Hogwarts as soon as possible to see how Draco was doing. He’s had to bury his concern for Draco whilst duelling, but now that the fight was over, his worry returned in full force. He waited impatiently while Dumbledore gave the now familiar instructions to assist the wounded. The Aurors were already dealing with the Death Eaters who’d been captured. 

 

Remus caught his eye, and Harry walked over to him.

 

“Are you all right?” Remus asked, looking worriedly at the missing sleeve and burned skin of Harry’s arm. “You need to get that healed.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m ok though. You?”

“Fine, some bruises and cuts, but nothing serious. Why don’t you go on to Hogwarts—there are plenty of us here to deal with this.”

 

For once Harry was fine with leaving the work to someone else. “I think I will. Draco was hurt. I want to see how he is.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Organ-freezing spell. Healer Ogden said the damage should be able to be healed easily as he wasn’t under the spell very long. But I want to see him.”

 

“Of course you do. Go on. Get your arm tended and see Draco.”

 

Harry nodded. Then he furrowed his brow and asked, “Is there anything special I need to know about Apparating long distances?”

 

“No, you go about it the usual way. If you’ve never Apparated as far as Hogwarts, I’d concentrate extra hard, but I think you’ll be fine. Give my best to Draco.”

 

“All right. I’ll see you later then.” Closing his eyes as he concentrated on the three Ds, he Disapparated with a _crack_.

 

He was elated when he arrived outside the Hogwarts gate safe and whole. His first cross-country Apparition. He smiled to himself despite the circumstances and greeted Ginny.

 

“Ouch, Harry, your arm looks painful,” she said, wincing in sympathy.

 

He glanced at it. “It is.”

 

“Is the battle over?”

 

“Yeah, we won.” He smiled a little. “Voldemort scarpered and took the remaining Death Eaters with him.”

 

“Good.” She grinned fiercely. “What about my family?

 

“As far as I know, they’re fine.” Harry now felt a little guilty for not finding out for sure. “I left directly after the battle, so I didn’t actually see them.”

 

“That’s all right. Well, go on in and get your arm healed. I know you’re wanting to see Malfoy, too.”

 

“Do you know how he is?”

 

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve been out here mostly.”

 

“All right, well, I imagine the rest of your family will be along soon. I’m sure they’re helping mop up.”

 

“Fred’s already here—not sure what he got hit with, but he didn’t seem too bad off.”

 

“Good to hear. I’ll see you later. Thanks for your help tonight.”

 

Ginny smiled, though she looked a little frustrated. “Wish I could do more.”

 

Harry understood; he’d felt the same when he’d been in her shoes before he’d come of age.

 

“I’m hoping this war ends long before you turn seventeen,” Harry said as he walked past her through the gate.

 

The infirmary was controlled chaos. Harry looked around for blond hair but didn’t see Draco right away. He started weaving through the rows of beds. He’d just spotted Draco on a bed in the far corner when Madam Pomfrey saw him.

 

“Let’s see that arm, young man,” she said. “Nasty burn you have there.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at it with her, but not overly interested. He had a more pressing concern. “How’s Draco?”

 

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry. We’ve gotten him warmed up, and now he just needs to sleep while his organs recover. There was some minor damage to his liver and pancreas, but we’ve taken care of it.”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and the knot of worry within him loosened some. “Thank you.”

 

Madam Pomfrey stepped away and returned quickly with burn-healing paste. She spread the orange goo on Harry’s arm, and he felt the cooling immediately.

 

“Ah, that’s better,” he said, sighing a little.

 

“I’m sure it is.” She wrapped his arm loosely and handed him the small jar of paste. “Reapply this every two hours for the next day or so.”

 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome. Before you ask, yes, you may sit with Draco for a while,” she said, smiling.

 

Harry grinned. “Thanks. See you later.”

 

Harry made his way over to Draco’s bed. He conjured a chair and scooted close to take Draco’s hand. It was a relief to find it warm. Draco looked completely normal, and the tightly coiled knot of tension in Harry’s belly dissolved.

 

What if he hadn’t been nearby when Draco had been hit? Anxiety built again, and Harry rested his forehead against the back of Draco’s hand where it lay on the white-sheeted mattress beside him. What if he hadn’t been able to end the spell quickly and get help for Draco? What if his injuries had been more severe? What if Draco had… _no_. Harry shook his head and didn’t allow his mind to go there. He had to stop this line of thinking. He’d just panic himself, and there was no need because Draco was fine. They were both fine. It was a lot to be thankful for, and he was indeed very thankful.

 

He sat up and brushed a lock of Draco’s hair off his forehead and smiled. The man he loved was beautiful. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed Draco’s lips. Draco stirred a little, and his hand flexed in Harry’s, but he didn’t awaken. Maybe subconsciously Draco knew Harry was there. He’d like to think so.

 

He stayed until Madam Pomfrey shooed away all the visitors. He Flooed home to find Remus waiting for him.

 

“How’s Draco?”

 

“He’s going to be fine.” Harry explained what Madam Pomfrey had told him.

 

“That’s a nasty spell,” Remus said, frowning. “I’ve seen it used before but not in a while. One of the Aurors was hit with it, too. I’m not sure how bad her injuries were, but I know she was taken to St Mungo’s.”

 

“Well, I hope someone ended the spell on her quickly,” Harry said. “Draco was so cold just touching him numbed my hand.” He caught himself yawning and gave Remus a rueful grin. “I’m knackered. I’m for bed—I don’t care how early it is.”

 

“As am I.”

 

They headed upstairs together. As Harry undressed in his room, he was keenly aware of Draco’s absence. It was the first time he’d be sleeping without Draco since the Battle of Little Whinging. Crawling into the bed that felt too empty, Harry switched his own pillow with Draco’s and accepted that little bit of Draco would have to do for tonight. Draco would be back in bed with Harry tomorrow night, and that was all that mattered. Completely exhausted, and satisfied Draco was safe, Harry dropped like a stone into sleep.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

 

 

When Draco awoke, he found Harry sitting by his bed.

 

“This seems familiar,” he said, stretching a little.

 

Harry smiled at him. “Good morning, love. How are you feeling?”

 

Draco took a moment to take stock of his body. “I feel completely normal.”

 

Harry’s smile widened. “That’s a relief. You gave me a scare yesterday.”

 

“I’m all right now,” Draco assured him. “Can you tell me what happened? I remember fighting, but then the next thing I knew I was waking up here. That new Healer, um…what’s her name…Spratt? Anyway, she told me I was hit with an organ-freezing spell, which explained why I was so bloody cold. She told me I was lucky I was unconscious for the worst of it—they’d already warmed me up quite a bit by the time I woke up.”

 

“I saw you get hit and go down,” Harry said, not liking remembering it. He lowered his voice. “I killed the Death Eater who cast the spell against you.”

 

“Good,” Draco said before he thought better of it. He scanned Harry’s face and was relieved to see no signs of angst over his actions. “Thanks for that.”

 

“I didn’t even think,” Harry admitted. “I just reacted. I was terrified and angry. But after I did that, I went to you and ended the spell with _Finite._ Then I took you to Healer Ogden at the house we earmarked for triage. He took a look at you, warmed you a little, then sent you on to Hogwarts.”

 

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand and his eyes spoke volumes. “You can’t know how difficult it was for me to not go with you.”

 

“You were needed at the battle. There was nothing you could have done for me you hadn’t already done. Thank you for that, by the way.” Draco grinned. “I’m glad you’re back to being the hero now. It suits you much better than me.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

 

“I thought so. Tell me what happened at the battle. You look fine—you weren’t hurt?”

 

“I got burned by a fire spell,” Harry admitted, rolling up his sleeve to show Draco the bandage. “It’s fine though. I’m using burn-healing paste.”

 

Draco frowned. “How bad is it?” He didn’t like the idea of Harry in pain.

 

“It’s nothing,” Harry insisted. “With the paste, it doesn’t even hurt.”

 

“How did it happen?”

 

Harry told him about he duel with the two Death Eaters that became three after Tonks joined him.

 

“At one point, one was coming right at me—I’d fallen, and I decided I’d had enough. I used the strangulation spell on him.” He paused, and his lips thinned into a grim line. “It worked.”

 

Draco blew out a breath and tried not to worry that Harry’d been in such a bad spot he’d had to kill to protect himself. “I’m sorry you had to kill again. But it is good to know you can cast that spell.”

 

“Yeah. I got some revenge against the Death Eaters in general last night,” he said quietly. “The one I killed with the strangulation spell—he was one of the ones who liked to beat me. I don’t know if the other one I killed or if the other two I was duelling were ones who tortured me, but…”

 

“Those you were duelling likely were. If they were as good as fighters as you said, they were probably higher-ranking. The higher-ranking Death Eaters were the ones that went at you the most.”

 

A hard part of himself that Harry didn’t like very much hoped the ones he’d been fighting had been ones who’d tortured him. The idea of giving them some pain before defeating them…he pushed the thought away.

 

“The good news is, I cast _Phasma Prohibeo_ on Voldemort,” Harry said, smiling with satisfaction. “And I know it worked—he reacted when it hit him.”

 

“Did you fight him?” Draco asked sharply, pushing himself up on his elbows.

 

“No, I snuck up behind him and hit him from a distance. He dropped that red shield over himself after I got him with the ghost spell. He wasn’t alone either. It wasn’t the time to confront him, unfortunately.”

 

Draco was grateful the time hadn’t been right. As much as he wanted the war over, he conversely wanted to put off Harry’s fight with Voldemort as long as possible. And when Harry did fight Voldemort, he wanted to be there, to help in whatever way he could.

 

“Another piece of good news is we looked to have captured or killed a good number of Death Eaters,” Harry added. “I didn’t stick around after the battle—came almost straight here to Hogwarts—but there were Death Eaters all over the ground.”

 

“That is good news,” Draco agreed.

 

“Oh! And I Apparated to Hogwarts,” Harry said, with a proud tilt to his head and a foolish little grin.

 

“From Godric’s Hollow? Across all of Britain?”

 

“Yeah. I was in a bit of a hurry to see how you were, so I tried it.”

 

“I’ve never Apparated so far,” Draco said. “How was it?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Just like Apparating anywhere. I did concentrate extra hard, though.”

 

Draco was wanting to try it himself now. He couldn’t let Harry have one up on him, now could he?

 

“I like Apparating better than Floo travel, so I Apparated here this morning as well.”

 

“Well, well, aren’t you just the bee’s knees,” Draco teased.

 

Harry grinned impishly. “Maybe I’ll try Apparating to the continent one day.”

 

Draco lifted his brows. “Don’t be getting too ambitious now. I don’t need a splinched boyfriend.”

 

“I’m just kidding,” Harry assured him. He looked around the crowded infirmary. “I wonder how long you’ll have to stay here.”

 

“Not long, I hope. I feel completely fine. If Madam Pomfrey insists I rest, I’d rather rest at home in my own bed.”

 

“I know what you mean. I want you there too. I missed you last night. It was weird sleeping alone.”

 

“Was it?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve gotten rather used to having my nice warm boyfriend in bed with me.”

 

“I wouldn’t have been so warm last night,” Draco said dryly. He regretted the comment when he saw the expression on Harry’s face.

 

“I’m sorry—”

 

“I was so scared last night.” Harry’s stark whisper cut over Draco’s apology. When his eyes met Draco’s, they were stricken. “When I saw you go down, when I saw the pain you were in, felt how cold you were—Merlin, Draco, you were like a block of ice!” He shook his head, fringe flopping over his furrowed forehead. “I’m not sure how I held it together.”

 

“You obviously held it together very well,” Draco said quietly. “You ended the spell and got me to a Healer, saving me a lot more pain.”

 

“Damn this war,” Harry cursed under his breath. “I hate it. I hate that you’re in danger. I hate that everyone I love is in danger. I fucking hate Voldemort. I want him dead. I want him _gone_.”

 

“You aren’t alone there,” Draco said. Despite the fact that they were in public, he reached out and took Harry’s hand. He didn’t think anyone was looking, but he found he didn’t care if someone was. “You’ll get him, Harry. I know you will.”

 

“I will,” Harry agreed, obviously making an effort to shake off his anger and replace it with something lighter. “Then I won’t have to sleep alone because my boyfriend’s been injured in a bloody battle.”

 

“Only if you’ve been arse. Then you’ll be on the couch,” Draco teased.

 

“If anyone’s ever on the couch, it’ll be you,” Harry retorted. “I’m the nice one, remember?”

 

Draco snorted. “You’re nicer than me, but you’re certainly no angel.” He smiled a bit wickedly. “There are times when I’m rather glad you aren’t an angel.”

 

Harry grinned back at him. “Same goes.”

 

They were still grinning at each other when Healer Spratt approached. Harry stood and quickly introduced himself.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter,” she said. “Now, how are you feeling this morning, Mr Malfoy? Any cold spots? Any pain?”

 

“No, none at all,” Draco replied, sitting up straighter. Healer Spratt raised the head of the bed a little more so he would be more comfortable. “I feel perfectly fine.”

 

“Very good,” she said. “Mr Potter, if you don’t mind stepping just over there, I’m going to examine Mr Malfoy.”

 

“Of course,” Harry said. Spratt pulled the curtain for privacy and ran her wand over Draco, casting various spells. Then she handed him a phial with a pale blue liquid inside it.

 

“Remove your shirt and drink that please.”

 

“What is it?” Draco asked a bit suspiciously. He didn’t drink unfamiliar potions. He gave it a sniff and was surprised by its flowery scent.

 

“It will let me know if any parts of your organs are still cold or have any damage,” she explained.

 

“And how will it do that?”

 

“You’ll glow,” she said, smiling as her eyes twinkled. “If there are any places that aren’t the right temperature or still have damage, you’ll glow blue there. If all is well, we’ll see a nice pink glow where the damage has been healed.”

 

Draco lifted a brow. This should be interesting. He stripped off his pyjama top and drank down the potion. It tasted as nice as it smelled—he wished all potions tasted so good.

 

He watched with Healer Spratt and was happy when he saw that nice pink glow emanating from his middle.

 

“Very good,” Spratt said, obviously pleased.

 

“Am I to be released then?” Draco asked hopefully.

 

“On two conditions: you stay in bed and rest all day, and you drink one more potion this evening around six. Can you promise to do that?”

 

“Absolutely,” Draco said, favouring her with a charming smile. Healer Spratt was now his new favourite Healer.

 

“All right, then,” she said. “You can get dressed while I fetch the potion for you.”

 

Draco looked around and saw the robes he’d been wearing the night before on the bottom shelf of the small bedside table. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He spelled them clean before quickly putting them on.

 

Spratt came back with the potion and the admonition that he come back to Hogwarts should he feel any pain. Draco assured her he would and gladly went to meet Harry, who was still standing off to the side.

 

“You’re free to go?” he asked, obviously a bit surprised.

 

“Yes. Apparently Healer Spratt doesn’t subscribe to Madam Pomfrey’s ‘you must be in the infirmary to rest properly’ philosophy. I’ve promised to rest all day at home, though.”

 

“Then rest you shall. Let’s get out of here.”

 

They Flooed back to Grimmauld Place (Draco wasn’t sure he should he climb out of a hospital bed and try Apparating to London for the first time) and were greeted warmly by Remus.

 

“You’re looking well,” he said to Draco.

 

“I feel well,” Draco said.

 

“But he’ll be resting today,” Harry reminded him.

 

“This isn’t the infirmary, Harry, I don’t need a matron,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

 

“I’m sure you could both use some rest,” Remus interjected diplomatically.

 

“Good point,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go upstairs.”

 

“Can I eat first?” Draco asked plaintively. “I haven’t even had breakfast.”

 

“Oh, sorry, forgot about that,” Harry said. “What do you want? Since you’re the recovering war hero today, I’ll cook for you.”

 

Remus snickered as Draco rolled his eyes again. “Fried eggs and sausage, please. And tea.”

 

“Coming right up!”

 

They bantered as Harry made breakfast and throughout the meal. It was rather light-hearted after the seriousness of the previous day, and it made all of them feel better to put thoughts of war aside and just be three friends sharing a meal.

 

 

**************************************************************************

 

 

Harry made Draco stay in bed all day, except to go down for meals—Draco insisted upon that, saying he needed to move and stretch. Harry kept Draco entertained by telling him stories of his adventures from his time at Hogwarts. Telling about Sirius and the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament was difficult, but Harry kept it together.

 

“You’ve really gone through a lot in your life, haven’t you?” Draco observed after hearing a few stories.

 

“I reckon I have,” Harry agreed pensively. “I don’t think I would have survived without Hermione and Ron. And a good bit of luck.”

 

“And talent and strength,” Draco added.

 

Harry shrugged. “I suppose.”

 

“Have you had any fun at all at Hogwarts?”

 

“Oh, yes, loads!” Harry said enthusiastically, his face clearing. “Playing Quidditch is the best thing ever.” He grinned wickedly. “Especially mopping the floor with Slytherin.”

 

Draco gave him a sour look.

 

“We have a lot of fun in Gryffindor Tower,” Harry continued. “I have fun hanging out with my friends—we laugh, we joke. Hogsmeade trips are good. And the feasts. Those are excellent. And despite the serious nature of the Dumbledore’s Army meetings, and the fear of being caught—” he gave Draco a _look_ —“I enjoyed them. It was satisfying to _do_ something and to see my friends actually learning some defence.”

 

Draco titled his head. “I imagine you’re a good teacher. Have you thought about teaching as a career?”

 

Harry’s expression grew sombre. “I haven’t thought about a career much lately. I used to want to be an Auror, but I think I’ve already had enough of that kind of work. I’ve been too focussed on the war to think on it any more. I’d like to go back, finish our seventh year if it’s possible, then I’ll sort out what to do about a career.”

 

“I rather think you’ve outstripped some of your teachers,” Draco said dryly. “Especially in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

 

Harry shrugged. “That may be so, but not in other classes, like Transfiguration.”

 

“And Potions,” Draco reminded him with a grin.

 

Harry stuck out his tongue. “At least if we go back, I’ll have the top student available to help me with my homework. And I want to go back just to have some fun. To hopefully have a nice, uncomplicated time at school for once. And even though he’ll be dead by then, it would be a nice way to thumb my nose at Voldemort by not letting him deprive me of my full education.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.” Draco rather liked the idea of sticking it to Voldemort, even posthumously. “I wonder how they’ll handle it, with everyone only missing a half-year.”

 

“We’ll probably all just have to start the year over,” Harry said. “Maybe we could move through the first term material more quickly and learn some additional things that hadn’t originally been planned for the year.”

 

“That sounds like something I’d expect Granger to say, not you. When did you become such a swot?”

 

“Never have been before,” Harry admitted cheerfully. “But I’ve really liked learning all the things from the books here and from you and Remus. I think I might be a bit more motivated if we get to finish school.”

 

“Well, you’re not as stupid as I thought you were all these years, so I guess you might earn a few Es for once,” Draco teased.

 

Harry gave him the two-fingered salute. “I did pretty well on my O.W.L.s I’ll have you know. One O, five Es, and one A.”

 

“The O was in Defence, I imagine?”

 

“Yes, it’s always been my best subject.”

 

“Given who you are, it would be surprising if it weren’t. Just remember not to do any Dark magic when you sit your N.E.W.T.”

 

Harry looked at him pointedly. “You either.”

 

Draco shrugged.

 

“Don’t you want to go back to school?” Harry asked, curious about Draco’s future plans.

 

“I do. I just hope they’ll let someone Marked go back.”

 

“They let Snape teach there, and he was actually a real Death Eater for a time,” Harry reminded him. “You never were.”

 

“True,” Draco said. “You never know with the Ministry, though.”

 

“If they let any of us go back, you’ll go back, too,” Harry said confidently. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I’m not particularly. Like you, I’ve been too caught up in the war the past couple of years to really focus on school. I’d definitely have to re-take the whole year, though, even if they managed somehow to let the rest of you take only second term.”

 

“I’d forgotten about that. Well, we’ll likely all be there for the year,” Harry said. “Tell me, do you have ideas for a career?”

 

“It was always assumed I’d go into business and maybe politics, like my father,” Draco said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket he was sitting on.

 

“Is that what you want to do?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You’re good at Potions and inventing cool things,” Harry said. “You could do something with that.”

 

“That’s more of a hobby,” Draco said.

 

“You could make it more, if you really wanted to.”

 

“Perhaps. It’s not like I have to decide right now.”

 

“You’re right.” Harry could tell Draco wasn’t keen on this topic of conversation so cast about for another idea. “What did you do for fun at Hogwarts?”

 

“Oh, the same as you,” Draco said. “Quidditch, hang out with friends.” Then he smiled slyly. “These days, I find sex with my very fit boyfriend to be one of my favourite things to do for fun.” He slid his hand over Harry’s jeans-clad leg and toward his crotch.

 

Harry grabbed his hand. “You’re still recovering. You’re meant to rest, remember?”

 

“Just think how well I’ll rest afterwards,” Draco said, his smile somehow managing to be both innocent and knowing. He moved quickly and straddled Harry. He leaned in to kiss Harry’s neck, but Harry stopped him.

 

“Draco, I’m serious. We can’t do this.”

 

“Sure we can. Tell you what. I’ll let you do all the work.” Draco grinned at him. He rubbed himself against Harry, and his smiled widened. “You definitely aren’t disinterested.”

 

“Of course I’m interested,” Harry retorted. “And what do you mean, let me do all the work?”

 

“We can reverse this position,” Draco said, sliding his hand around the back of Harry’s neck. This time Harry didn’t stop him, and he lipped at his earlobe as he whispered seductively, “You can ride me.”

 

Despite his best intentions, Harry tilted his head to give Draco better access to his neck. “If you’re sure you’re up to it.”

 

“I will be, very soon,” Draco promised, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along Harry’s neck that caused Harry’s skin to tingle deliciously. 

 

Harry chuckled, and Draco took advantage of the opportunity to kiss him. He slid his tongue into the moist heat, teasing the tip of Harry’s. Harry’s mouth fell open wider and Draco pushed his hands into Harry’s hair, holding him in place as licked around the inside of Harry’s cheeks, teasing the roof of his mouth. Harry moaned and chased his tongue, drawing it in and giving it a soft nip. The snog gradually became more heated, with Harry’s hands tightening on Draco’s arse as he became more aroused, and Draco rubbed himself against Harry’s bulging crotch.

 

Draco stopped kissing Harry to yank off his shirt before removing his own pyjama top. He caressed Harry’s chest, scraping lightly with his nails, and then leaned down to mouth at a flat brown nipple. Harry sighed as he sifted his fingers through Draco’s hair. “I thought I was going to do all the work.”

 

“The strenuous parts. I’m not depriving myself of touching you altogether.”

 

Harry flipped Draco onto his back and took his mouth. He worried Draco’s nipple between his spit-dampened fingers, and Draco hummed in pleasure.

 

“More,” he whispered. Harry mouthed his way down Draco’s neck, lingering to lave the hollow at the base. He made his way down Draco’s body and teased Draco’s nipple with just the tip of his pointed tongue until it pebbled. Draco’s breath caught as he bit down gently and his hands tightened briefly on Harry’s strong shoulders. He felt the heat begin to pool in his belly and shifted, pressing his chest up against Harry’s wandering lips.

 

Apparently Harry was getting a little warm, too, as he groaned and traced his thumbs along the edges of Draco’s hipbones. “I think it’s time to move on to the more strenuous parts.”

 

They rid themselves of their remaining clothes, and Draco sat back against the carved dark wood of the headboard. Harry took a moment to admire Draco’s cock as he stroked it, stiff and deeply red at the head. A bead of pre-come dribbled out as he watched and he used his thumb to spread it around. Harry took Draco into his mouth, caressing the inside of Draco’s thigh with just the tips of his fingers and making him shiver. He alternated sucking with licking, using the flat of his tongue to put pressure on the underside along the pulsing vein, just the way he knew Draco liked it. He was rewarded with a moan and Draco’s hands clenching more tightly in his hair. Popping a finger into his mouth as he continued to suck, he wet it thoroughly, then teased Draco’s hole, circling the rim before sliding it inside. Draco groaned and let his legs fall open, but Harry had other ideas.

 

Pulling off Draco’s cock with a wet smacking sound, Harry turned around and presented his arse to Draco. “Get me ready,” he commanded, his voice a little rough. Then he dropped his mouth back down on Draco and began sucking hard, running his tongue up and down the shaft as his hand teased at Draco’s sack.

 

Draco inhaled sharply at the sudden feel of warm, wet suction again after the moment of cool air. He had to forcibly clear his mind to cast the charm for lube. He’d learnt to do it wandlessly—much more convenient. They hadn’t done anything like this before, Harry sticking his arse practically in Draco’s nose while he went down on him, and Draco found it a little hard to concentrate with Harry distracting him, but he got him prepared quickly.

 

After a while of this play, Harry started to turn around to straddle Draco.

 

“No, keep facing that way,” Draco said, smiling a little wickedly. “I want to watch.”

 

Harry’s eyes glinted as he smiled back. “Do you now? Well, I think that can be arranged.” He moved into position and reached behind him to take hold of Draco’s cock. Draco helped guide him, and Harry took Draco into him with a groan as the head pushed past the outer ring of muscles. He worked his way all the way down with slow, twisting motions of his hips. Draco salivated just watching Harry impale himself, gritting his teeth to keep from thrusting up hard and fast into the clenching heat.

 

“Missed this last night,” Harry said, panting a little as he lifted up and sank back down.

 

“Mmm,” Draco murmured, keeping his hands on Harry’s hips to balance him. “I was asleep and missed it.”

 

He watched his dick disappear between Harry’s cheeks as Harry began to ride him a little faster. He’d discovered he liked to watch his cock stretch Harry’s hole open as he thrust inside. He couldn’t really see that part from this position, but it was almost as good.

 

“Merlin, that’s good,” he groaned as Harry rose and fell, taking his cock inside him like it was made for him. He was helping pull Harry down every time Harry slid back down him again. It was a different sensation than when he was doing the thrusting. He decided he liked not doing the work.

 

Harry, on the other hand, didn’t mind doing this kind of work at all. Sliding up and down Draco’s cock was brilliant and listening to Draco’s moans and mutterings turned him on. He leaned forward a bit and felt Draco’s hands on his arse, prying his cheeks open, knowing Draco was enjoying watching his cock get swallowed by Harry’s tight hole. He was ready for a harder ride, though, and needed something to hold onto.

 

He lifted up and off and turned around to face Draco, taking him in again. He braced himself on Draco’s shoulders and began to ride Draco harder, faster. He leaned in and kissed Draco passionately, sweeping his tongue inside to tangle with Draco’s. Draco’s hands tightened on his hips, and he felt Draco finally get the angle exactly right. He gasped into Draco’s mouth and shuddered. “Oh, yes,” he panted, swivelling his hips and grinding down. “Oh, yes.”

 

Draco felt his climax approaching, tingling sparks spreading up his spine, and urged Harry on by taking his leaking cock in hand and giving it a swift twist. Harry moaned and cursed and rode harder.

 

Draco came first, thrusting up hard into Harry as he did. He paused for a moment, shuddering, shuddering and gasping, and then resumed pulling at Harry’s straining erection.

 

_“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,”_ Harry bit out, continuing to ride with his eyes screwed shut. His hands clenched on Draco’s shoulders, nails digging little grooves, and he leaned in to kiss and run his teeth along Draco’s neck. Draco moaned, and Harry finally came, shooting his essence on Draco’s chest and clamping down tight around Draco. Draco gasped at that last bit of stimulation, and his head fell back. His hand slowed on Harry’s cock, milking the last of his orgasm, and he felt Harry sigh against his neck before he began kissing it again.

 

Harry nuzzled and placed soft kisses behind Draco’s ear and felt him shiver a little. “I love you,” he whispered as a sudden, keen awareness that he could have lost this man swamped him. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I would do if—”

 

“Hush,” Draco said and took Harry’s mouth to shut him up. He didn’t want to go there.

 

Still breathing raggedly, they snogged for a while, simply enjoying one another. When they finally broke apart, Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s shoulder. Draco kissed his neck and said simply, “I love you, too.” It was his own way of acknowledging he understood Harry’s fear all too well.

 

Eventually, Harry disentangled himself from Draco. Draco cleaned them up with a spell and then looked down at Harry, who was sprawled across the mattress.

 

“All that work wear you out?” he asked, amused.

 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed. “Best kind of work in the world.” He opened his eyes and smiled, a cat having enjoyed the cream, at Draco. “I take it you’re all right?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

 

“In a minute,” Harry mumbled sleepily. “I don’t think I can move yet.”

 

“All shagged out, are you?” Draco asked, amused at his lover again.

 

“Something like that,” Harry agreed, yawning. “I did do all the work, you know.”

 

Draco grinned. “Go to sleep. I won’t be long.”

 

Harry closed his eyes again. “All right. Give us a kiss, love.”

 

Draco did as he was asked and kissed Harry lightly. “Have a good nap, love.”

 

“Mmmm,” Harry mumbled, already sliding into sleep. Draco smiled and watched him drift off. It still amazed him he could love someone so much. He’d never dreamt it was possible. But he was glad he’d fallen so hard, however soppy just thinking that made him feel.

 

Changing his mind about the shower, he pulled the sheets over Harry and spooned up next to him. He could shower later.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four

 

 

The next day was Saturday, and the Order met at Hogwarts for lunch. Apparently Dumbledore felt they all needed to do something fun, as he had the house-elves make quite the feast. Harry had a great time at the unusual meal, laughing and chatting and joking with the twins and Ron and Hermione. He dragged Draco into the conversation several times, determined to get his friends used to interacting with Draco on a social level and vice versa.

 

Surprisingly, Draco seemed most comfortable with Fred and George, but then they didn’t treat him much differently than they treated anyone else. After everyone had finished eating and were just milling about talking about this and that, Harry noticed the three of them had their heads together. Harry could hear enough of the conversation to know the twins were asking Draco about how he’d invented the Apparition Hoop. Standing a little ways off to the side, he smiled to himself. It was nice to see Draco socialising with his friends.

 

The ever-observant Hermione noticed their conversation and commented on it. “I’ve never seen Malfoy so…well, talkative before. With us, I mean.”

 

“I like seeing it,” Harry admitted. “He’s not used to socialising with people other than Slytherins.”

 

“He’s normally very quiet,” Hermione agreed. “I guess this is more of what you see when it’s just the two of you.”

 

“It certainly didn’t happen right away, but yes, he’s much different at home. His life’s been quite different from ours, and it’s made him rather…careful.”

 

“I imagine so, being with the Death Eaters the way he was for so long,” she said, nodding slowly. “I hadn’t given it much thought until lately—not until I found out the two of you were together—but it must have been very difficult living that way, as a spy among a very dangerous group of people. I’d be very careful, too, if it were me.”

 

Harry was grateful Hermione seemed to be considering Draco in a different light. “He doesn’t talk about it much. But I do know it was difficult. Well beyond difficult. I’m not sure I could have done it.”

 

“I know I couldn’t have,” Hermione said emphatically, shuddering a little. “Not in a million years.” She paused and tilted her head to study Harry’s face. “Is he good to you, Harry? I guess he’s perhaps not as cold as I once thought he was, but…you deserve someone who can really be good to you.”

 

Harry took Hermione’s hand and kissed it dramatically, making her giggle. He smiled. “You’re a queen just for caring enough to ask. You needn’t worry. He’s very good to me.” A fond expression came over his face as he thought of all the ways Draco showed he loved him. “He’s different with me. You don’t see it because he doesn’t let it show publicly. He’s very private. But with me, he’s very caring, very open. He’s been there for me when I’ve needed him—even before we got together, he was there for me in his own way.”

 

“What do you mean?”

Harry hesitated. Seeing the shadow cross his expression and feeling him withdraw—though he didn’t move away—Hermione immediately understood and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

 

“It’s all right.” Harry dragged a hand through his hair. He wanted Hermione to understand his relationship with Draco, so he’d make the effort. “He’d do little things for me, things he probably doesn’t realise I even knew he was doing. Sometimes I’d be getting too far into my own head, and he’d make some snarky comment to distract me. When we’d train together, it was like he could tell I was angry sometimes, that I was struggling—and he’d keep pushing me and pushing me until somehow I’d worked it out of my system and felt a little better.

 

“And I could talk to him about…things. Just a little here and there at first. The first time I killed was the night he killed his father. We talked each other through that one.” He grimaced, remembering that difficult conversation. “I don’t know how, but…when I’ve…when I’ve had a flashback…he’s given me exactly what I needed.” He smiled a little. “And it may not sound like it, but we do have fun together. It’s not all doom and gloom. He’s really very funny and very clever.”

 

“I’m glad he’s been there for you, and that you can have a little fun. We all need to sometimes. I suspect that’s the reason Professor Dumbledore set up this little gathering.” 

 

She paused, and Harry could tell there was something she wanted to ask.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I didn’t mean for this conversation to become so serious here when we’re meant to be having a good time. It’s nothing pressing. We’ll talk about it later.”

 

“If something’s bothering you, I’d rather talk about it now.”

 

Hermione bit her lip. Glancing around, she pulled Harry a little farther away from the general crowd and lowered her voice. “It’s just that you said, ‘the first time I killed’. Does that mean you’ve killed again?”

 

Harry inhaled deeply and wished he’d been more careful with his phrasing. But he wasn’t going to lie even though it would be much easier to. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I tried to use the Killing Curse against Voldemort in Little Whinging, but he dodged, and I hit a Death Eater standing next to him.”

 

“Oh. So it was sort of accidental again.”

 

“You could look at it that way.”

 

Then her eyes opened wide and she paled a little. “It just hit me what you said. You cast the Killing Curse.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh, Harry, I…I’m sorry.” She toyed with the ends of her hair. “That’s a stupid thing to say, but I don’t know what else to say. I know you have to kill Voldemort. I do. But it’s still…it’s still hard to know it has to be you.” She hesitated. “You said the Battle of Little Whinging. That was days ago. Why haven’t you told us about…about trying to kill Voldemort with the Killing Curse?”

 

Harry blew out a breath as he ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “I…I guess I just never got around to it. Ron got hurt during that battle and that’s when everyone found out about Draco and me and things were pretty messed up between us for a while. Then things got sorted and…I dunno. We’ve never really talked about that battle, just the three of us. It never came up.”

 

She regarded him suspiciously. “That’s all true, and you’re right, things were bad there for a bit. But I have the feeling there’s more to this. You’re not telling me everything.”

 

“I don’t think you really want to know. I don’t want you worried about me.”

 

“I’m always worried about you,” she retorted. “How can I not be? You have the most powerful Dark wizard in ages after you. You’re fighting a war. And I know you’re using Dark magic, and I don’t like it, but as both you and Ron have pointed out, you’re an adult and can make your own decisions. I’m trying to be more accepting of that.”

 

She looked at him earnestly. “I want you to know you can talk to me, too, Harry. I don’t want you holding back from Ron and me because you’re afraid we’ll turn away from you or something. I know things were bad between you and Ron there for a while. Things are pretty much back to normal now, but I feel like you’ve taken a step back from us. I’m not sure if it’s because of the friction that happened, or if it’s just that you’re naturally more focussed on spending time with your boyfriend—which I completely understand—or if you’re avoiding us because you’re doing things you think we won’t approve of.” 

 

Harry sighed as she ran down and swept his hand through his hair again. Then he rubbed his hands over his face, stalling for time to get his thoughts in order. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but of course Hermione was entirely too perceptive. He _had_ been holding back. There were things he didn’t feel he could talk to them about, like the darker side of what he felt, and certainly what he’d been doing during battles. But she had a point. She and Ron were his best friends. Friends should be honest with one another. He’d expect honesty if their situations were reversed. He didn’t have to share all his feelings or the details of his flashbacks—some things were just too private—but there were things he could and probably should tell them.

 

“You’re right. I suppose I haven’t been as…open with you as I have been in the past. There are some things I’ll never tell you, and I know you understand that. But you’re right in that I’ve held back telling you other things for fear of upsetting you. I don’t like upsetting you.”

 

“Will you tell me now?”

 

“I’m fighting this war on their terms, Hermione,” he replied bluntly. “I use Dark magic, and I’m not ashamed of that or worried about it. And I have killed. I’ve used the Killing Curse twice. I’m not killing often by any means. Don’t think I’m killing every Death Eater I come across in battle because I’m certainly not. My goal is always to disable and capture. I try not to fight dirty until they do. And I’ve only killed deliberately twice—once to save Draco and once to save myself.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly. If she was shocked by what Harry had said, she hid it well. “If you didn’t feel you had any other choice, I understand that. I know you aren’t the only member of the Order who’s had to kill in self-defence or in defence of someone else. I don’t like that you’ve had to do it, Harry. It makes me sad. But I trust that you’re not doing anything you don’t feel is absolutely necessary.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure the way he let his need for vengeance colour his actions during battle fell into Hermione’s category of “absolutely necessary” but kept mum. “I appreciate that,” was all he said.

 

“Can I tell Ron this? Just Ron? I know he’s been feeling a bit of the way I’ve been.”

 

“Of course,” Harry said. If he’d told Hermione, he didn’t mind Ron knowing as well. “And I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings. I didn’t intend to. It’s just not exactly a topic of conversation that’s pleasant or even easy to bring up.”

 

“I know.” She smiled a little. “Well, enough of that depressing talk. I see Draco looks to be doing fine. I heard he was hit by an organ-freezing spell in Godric’s Hollow.” She shuddered. “I’m glad he’s ok.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and gave into temptation. He grinned a bit wickedly. “He had to stay in bed resting all day yesterday, but that ended up not being so bad.”

 

“Harry!” Hermione smacked his arm.

 

“What?” he said innocently. “I just meant that I had time to tell him all the stories of our adventures over the years.”

 

Hermione gave him a dirty look. “That’s not what you meant at all.”

 

Harry snickered. “Ah, you’ve caught me out. We did have a bit of fun. But I did tell him stories, too. I think he was rather amazed by everything we’ve done.” 

 

“I’m sure he was,” Hermione said dryly. “There’s been a lot that’s happened over the years.”

 

“Indeed there has,” Draco drawled, walking up beside Harry. “You lot are experts are getting yourselves into trouble.”

 

Harry grinned and ran his hand down Draco’s back in a quick gesture to tell him he was glad to see him. “Wasn’t always our fault.”

 

“As I recall, you put yourselves into some of those situations,” Draco reminded him.

 

“I guess that’s true,” Hermione admitted.

 

“I think people are ready to get this meeting started,” Draco said. “We’ve already been here for over an hour.”

 

“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Harry teased.

 

“No, but other people might. Most people aren’t trapped inside their homes all day.”

 

“True. Let’s go have a seat.”

 

Hermione found Ron and she and Harry sat between him and Draco. Dumbledore called the meeting to order shortly thereafter.

 

He thanked everyone for coming and provided an update on the injured. None of the Order members had died in Godric’s Hollow, thankfully, but several people had been hurt. They discussed the battle, with different people chiming in to tell of what they’d seen and experienced.

 

“Your spider webs worked a treat,” Harry said to Fred and George.

 

They grinned. “They did, didn’t they? Now that we’ve tested them out, we’ll make some more and pass them round,” Fred said. “We’ve got some other things just about ready to test as well.”

 

“Hopefully there won’t be too many more battles,” Molly put in, “and you won’t be needing to test anything.”

 

“That brings up a good point,” Moody said gruffly. “You-Know-Who was there at the battle. It was unfortunate no one was able to get to him. We’ve got to figure out a way to get him in a position where Potter can try to take him out.” He looked at Harry. “You are ready to take him out, aren’t you?”

 

“More than,” Harry said emphatically.

 

“Lupin tells me you’ve been training. You feel confident enough in your skills to fight a Dark wizard as powerful as You-Know-Who?”

 

“I’m confident enough in them,” Tonks spoke up. “We were fighting three Death Eaters together, and let me tell you, Harry’s a fierce opponent. I’ve never seen anyone fight the way he did.”

 

Harry smiled a little and gave Tonks a nod for her support. “I think I’m ready.”

 

“There’s no ‘thinking’—you have to _be_ ready,” Moody said. “I think we need to see that you are.” His magical eye wheeled a bit and then he smiled sharply. “I challenge you, Potter.”

 

Harry lifted his brows. “To a duel? Here? Now?”

 

“Here and now,” Moody confirmed.

 

Harry glanced around the room and saw several people looking very interested in this proposed duel. Draco nudged Harry in his ribs. “Go kick his arse,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“All right,” Harry said, letting that serve as an answer to both Draco and Moody as he slowly stood up. If he was going to duel someone, he didn’t mind it being Moody. He was still upset with him for using the Cruciatus on Draco. “If you really want to do this, I’m willing.”

 

“Albus, do you think this is a good idea?” McGonagall asked, even as the twins started applauding.

 

“As long as they keep it clean,” Dumbledore said, a bit pointedly. “I’d like to see Harry in action myself.”

 

‘Great, no pressure,’ Harry thought wryly. He overheard one of the twins say something about “fancy a flutter?” and realised they were taking bets on the outcome of the duel. He glanced around and caught sight of Kingsley handing over some coins. He wanted to laugh. This indeed should be interesting.

 

“Perhaps up on the platform,” Dumbledore suggested. He stood and levitated the high table to the floor, clearing a space for them to duel.

 

Harry motioned for Moody to go ahead of him. “Age before beauty,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.

 

Moody cracked a laugh. “Cheeky one, aren’t you?”

 

Harry smiled a little, and when Moody turned his back to go up the steps, Harry flicked his fingers and hit him in the back with the disarming spell. Moody’s wand flew to Harry’s outstretched hand.

 

“Constant vigilance,” Harry said, running his tongue over his teeth and slowly smirking.

 

Several people gasped at Harry’s audacity, but Moody just laughed.

 

“Glad you’ve taken that lesson to heart, boy. Now give me back my wand so we can get this show started.”

 

“I know very well you’ve got a spare,” Harry said with deceptive insouciance as he mounted the platform. He tossed Moody’s wand to Dumbledore, who was standing closest. It was hard to tell with the beard, but Harry thought Dumbledore might have been wearing an amused smile. “I’m not going into a duel with someone I know is doubly armed if I can help it.”

 

Draco wanted to laugh but kept it to a smirk. Moody didn’t know Harry was doubly armed as well, what with his wandless abilities—if he did, he’d demand his wand back. He wondered if Harry would really show what he could do or if he’d hold back. He hoped Harry gave it his all.

 

Moody withdrew his second wand from his boot and regarded Harry a bit more carefully. “Clever one, aren’t you?”

 

Harry just inclined his head and took the accepted duelling position. They bowed and the duel began.

 

Harry suspected Moody would come in hard and quick, and he didn’t disappoint. He’d barely come up from his bow when Moody was shooting off a Jelly-Leg Jinx; Harry deflected it easily and countered with his own spell. It felt a bit odd to be using spells not designed to defeat Death Eaters aiming to kill or at least injure you severely. They danced around each other for a bit, each feeling the other out.

 

Harry hit Moody with a Bat-Bogey Hex and grinned when the flapping things attacked Moody’s face. He followed up with a Trip Jinx and sent Moody sprawling. The old man was back on his feet almost instantly though, shielding himself from Harry’s Body-Bind and shooting out a Blasting Curse of his own. Harry shielded, but he felt the power of the blow.

 

The hexes and jinxes flew fast and thick after that. Harry got in quite a few hits, but Moody never stayed down for long. Harry hit the floor a couple of times himself. Harry used a bit more power, but held back from what he was really capable of. As the duel went on, he upped the power even more and was impressed by Moody’s grit.

 

He’d just turned and deflected Moody’s Stunner when something tickled the back of his mind. Instinctively, he shot out his left hand and wandlessly shielded himself from Snape’s Blasting Curse. The power of it rocked him back on his heels—he should have used a more powerful shield than _Protego_. The tricky bastard must have snuck up behind him before he’d made his quarter turn. He shot out simultaneous Stinging Hexes at both men and felt a little vindicated when he saw both of them flinch.

 

Moody and Snape continued to come at him, and Harry found himself almost completely on the defensive. He didn’t like it and decided it was time to take charge. He tripped Moody again as he ducked the spell the old Auror had just shot at him. He wandlessly shielded himself from Snape and at the same time used his wand to finally get Moody with a Stunner. One opponent down, one to go. The second he saw Snape cast at him, he shielded with his wand, simultaneously twisting the fingers of his left hand. He let loose a very powerful Blasting Curse. Snape was flung backwards and halfway across the platform. Harry quickly disarmed him and walked over to where the irritating man lay on the floor.

 

Standing a safe distance away and peripherally keeping an eye on Moody, Harry pointed his wand at Snape and asked, “Are we done here? Or are you in the mood for more?”

 

Snape gave him a very disgusted look, but Harry wondered if he was really more disgusted with himself for letting Harry get the best of him.

 

“We’re done,” he bit out.

 

Harry held Snape’s gaze for a moment longer. Harry was glad Snape had gotten involved in the duel, however sneakily he’d done it. This was likely the only opportunity he’d ever have in his life to knock Severus Snape on his arse and give him back just a fraction of the embarrassment he’d caused Harry over the years. The temptation to gloat was enormous.

 

He settled for smirking a little. “Here’s you wand…sir.” The insolence was deliberate and obvious. He just smiled tightly as Snape glared at him.

 

He flipped Snape his wand, and still keeping an eye on the tricky Slytherin, used _Rennervate_ on Moody. Moody sat up slowly and then noticed Snape getting to his feet as well.

 

“Beat us both, did you?” Moody asked. “Good for you.” Harry offered him a hand up, and Moody took it. Harry could be a gracious winner, even if he still didn’t like the man.

 

That’s when the applause started. Harry was a little startled—he’d forgotten they had an audience. Half of the Order was already on their feet, and the other half was getting up. He stood there, out of breath and more than a little stunned, as some of the younger members actually cheered him. Well, he’d just publicly knocked Severus Snape, the most hated professor at Hogwarts, down a peg, so he supposed he’d be cheering, too, if someone else had done it.

 

Not knowing what else to do and a little embarrassed, he lifted his hand in a little wave and started for the steps. He wanted off the platform and everyone’s eyes off him.

 

He went directly to his chair and sat down—thankfully most everyone else had sat back down by this point as well. Draco was actually grinning at him. He leaned in and whispered in Harry’s ear, “You were brilliant, love. Absolutely amazing.”

 

Harry gave him a little half-smile and ran his hand briefly over Draco’s thigh in thanks.

“I must say, I’m impressed, Potter,” Moody said as he took his own seat. “You’re not only powerful, but you’re an excellent duellist.” He looked at Dumbledore with his one good eye. “Did you teach him that trick of performing two spells at once? You’re the only other person I’ve ever seen do that.”

 

Harry kicked Draco under the table when he caught the tiniest hint of a smirk on Draco’s face out of the corner of his eye. He knew the little wanker was just dying to tell him “I told you so.”

 

“No, I haven’t taught him anything,” Dumbledore said, smiling at Harry. “You’ve impressed me too, Harry, and I feel safe in saying everyone else at this table, as well.”

 

“Er, thank you, sir,” Harry said, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“I believe we all have confidence in Harry’s abilities now,” Dumbledore said to the group at large. “Thank you three gentlemen for a show both entertaining and enlightening. Now unless there is further business, I propose we adjourn.”

 

The meeting ended, and Harry’s friends immediately rushed over to him.

 

“That was brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, slapping Harry on the back so hard he almost knocked him over. “Beyond brilliant!”

 

“Good show,” Fred said, shaking Harry’s hand heartily. “Good show. You’ve now accomplished something that every person who’s ever attended this school has wanted to do but never had the bottle: knock Snape on his arse.”

 

Harry laughed as George shook his hand too, proclaiming Harry’s feat “bloody smashing.”

 

“It did feel really good,” Harry admitted, grinning. Everyone laughed, even Hermione.

 

“You’ve been holding back on us, mate,” Fred said. “Knew you were powerful, that’s rather obvious, but doing two spells at once? I’ve never heard of such a thing. You’ve really got some juice.”

 

“When’d you learn to do that? Come to think of it, how did you learn to do that?” Ron asked.

 

“Uh, only recently,” Harry said, not thrilled with the direction of the conversation. He hated talking about himself. “I sort of did it once by accident and then practised it with Remus and Draco until I could do it when I wanted to.”

 

“It’s quite a skill,” Hermione said, obviously impressed. “And like Fred said—well, some of us have talked about how powerful you are in training, but…this was more.”

 

“We’ve been working on honing his innate power,” Draco spoke up, surprising Harry. “Bringing it to the fore, you could say.”

 

“I will say,” Ron agreed. “I’m glad I’m on your side, mate.”

 

“Be glad Draco’s on our side, too—he’s the one who’s been teaching me,” Harry said. “Draco’s favourite word during those sessions was ‘focus.’ Trust me when I say I heard that plenty of times!”

 

They all laughed and Draco gave Harry a wry look. “It worked, didn’t it?”

 

“It did, love.” Harry risked Draco’s wrath by kissing his cheek and putting his arm around his waist. Draco gave Harry a lingering sidelong glance under his lashes but didn’t say anything.

 

“Well, I’m very impressed by how much you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time, Harry,” Hermione said. “You’ve obviously worked very hard.”

 

“We’ve all been working hard,” Harry reminded her. “And it’s helped all of us. Now let’s just hope I can figure out a way to get close enough to the wanker to kill him.”

 

Fred and George snorted in unison.

 

“Did you just call…”

 

“…He Who Must Not Be Named…”

 

“…a wanker?”

 

Harry grinned. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

 

Fred and George beamed at one another.

 

“I can see a whole line of merchandise, can’t you, Fred? I can see the t-shirts flying off the shelves now.”

 

“How about one with ‘He Who Must Be Named A Wanker,’” Fred suggested.

 

“Or ‘You-Know-Who’s-A-Wanker,’” George proposed.

 

Harry and Ron cracked up laughing. Draco tried disguising a laugh with a cough, but Harry could see the look of unholy glee in his eyes.

 

“That’s really inappropriate,” Hermione tried to say sternly—but even she couldn’t keep a straight face. “But really, really funny.”

 

“’The Dark Wanker,’” Draco put in. Fred slapped him on the shoulder in approval.

 

“Good one, mate. You know, Harry, your lover-boy here’s not so bad.” He winked.

 

Harry choked at the expression on Draco’s face when Fred called him “lover-boy.” He had a feeling he’d pay for it later, but he couldn’t completely prevent himself from laughing. Draco shot him a dark look.

 

George grinned at Harry and Draco. “You know, you two really do make a cute couple.”

 

“Just precious,” Fred added, his voice syrupy sweet.

 

Ron gagged, and Harry wanted to smack George even as he snickered. Draco was never going to let him hear the end of this.

 

“Oh, Harry, _cutie-pie_ ,” Draco drawled sarcastically and had the twins dying with laughter. “I do believe it’s time for us to be going.”

 

Harry wanted to gape at the fact Draco was actually playing along with the twins. Those two were miracle workers. Draco Malfoy, joking around with Weasleys?

 

“Of course, _dear_ ,” Harry replied pointedly as he grinned. He turned to the others. “Looks like we’re going now. See you lot later.”

 

“We’ll walk out with you,” Hermione said, and they all fell in together and walked to the Floo fireplace.

 

There was a bit more laughing and joking as they said their goodbyes. When they arrived back at Grimmauld Place, Draco gave Harry a rather dirty look, but Harry could tell he wasn’t really that irritated.

 

“What’s wrong, lover-boy?” he asked sweetly, unable to resist.

 

“Call me that again and you’ll find out what it’s like sleeping on the sofa,” Draco warned him, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

 

Harry walked over to him and wrapped his arms around his waist. Draco tilted his head back and looked down his nose at Harry. “You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

 

“Am I sleeping on the couch if I say yes?”

 

Draco snorted. “Those two are quite the pair,” he said, referring to the twins.

 

“Oh, they are,” Harry agreed. “I’ve always liked them.”

 

“I think they offered me a job,” Draco said with a bit of bemusement.

 

Harry kissed Draco lightly. “Did they?”

 

“They said something about branching out into more practical inventions after the war,” Draco said. “They’re very ambitious.”

 

“As a Slytherin, you should like that about them.”

 

Draco cocked a brow. “It is a redeeming factor. It almost makes up for the ginger hair.”

 

Harry laughed. “Did you have a good time at the luncheon?”

 

“It was…interesting,” Draco said, pulling away from Harry to open the cold box. He offered Harry a lager and took one for himself. “I need something a bit stronger than tea after all of that socialising with so many Gryffindors.”

 

“It was good to see you smile,” Harry said.

 

“I smile,” Draco protested.

 

“With me and Remus,” Harry agreed. “But it was nice to see you interacting with others and looking like you might actually be enjoying it a little.”

 

“I like socialising,” Draco said, sipping his beer. “Well, I used to. Haven’t done much of it lately, and I’ve certainly never done any with Gryffindors. It takes some getting used to. The type of socialising I’m accustomed to is a bit more…restrained.”

 

“Is that a polite way of saying boring?” Harry asked innocently.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Just because people aren’t bouncing off the walls doesn’t mean a gathering is boring.”

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Harry agreed blandly, his lips twitching as he took a swallow of beer.

 

“Oh, shut it,” Draco groused. “You certainly can’t say today’s meeting was boring—you were the entertainment.”

 

Harry grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”

 

“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed by showing people just how damn good you are. You took down two very good fighters. You should be proud.”

 

Harry shrugged. “I just don’t like the attention.”

 

“I know. But you really were something up there today. I wish you could have seen yourself.”

 

“What I wish is that I could have captured on film the look on Snape’s face when I blasted him.” Harry snickered and lifted his beer bottle in a salute to himself. “You have no idea how good it felt to do that.”

 

Draco grinned. “After all the crap he’s given you over the years, I imagine it did feel good.”

 

“He’ll never forgive me for it. He’ll hold it against me for the rest of his life, even though he’s the one who put himself in the position of being beaten by his least favourite student by getting involved in a duel he wasn’t invited to.” Harry looked at Draco curiously and took another pull of his beer. “Why do you think he did it?”

 

“Honestly? He was testing you. I think you surprised him a little at how well you were doing, and he wanted to see just how good you really were.”

 

“I thought it was because he wanted to try and humiliate me again.”

 

“I’m sure that would have been an nice side benefit, had he been able to defeat you,” Draco agreed. “But he’s got a pretty vested interest in you winning this war, Harry. He knows better than most what Voldemort’s capable of doing. I think you showed him tonight you’re just as powerful, if not more so, than the Dark Wanker.”

 

Harry snickered. “I’m totally calling him that from now on.”

 

“Seriously, though, I think you probably very reluctantly impressed Snape tonight. He can’t stand you. I don’t really know why, but it’s obvious he’s hated you since the moment you stepped foot in Hogwarts. But after tonight he can’t deny you’re a damn good fighter. And a powerful wizard.”

 

“He hates me because of my father,” Harry explained. “I know my father was a good man, but he had his faults, just as we all do. He used to pick on Snape when they were in school. He and Sirius both did. My father and Sirius were popular—Snape wasn’t. They weren’t always very nice to him. Snape either sees James Potter when he looks at me or just likes taking revenge through the son since the father isn’t available. I’ve never been sure which.”

 

“How do you know all that?”

 

“Remus and Sirius,” Harry said, keeping his promise to Snape never to mention what he saw in his memories. He may hate the man, but Harry kept his word. “Sirius and Snape absolutely loathed each other. Sirius enjoyed telling me stories of the things they’d done to Snape.”

 

“And Sirius was your godfather. Another reason for Snape to hate you.”

 

“I guess you’re probably right,” Harry said. He polished off his beer and studied the empty glass bottle. “Have you ever gotten completely pissed?”

 

Draco couldn’t quite suppress a smile at the memory that immediately flooded his mind. “Once. You?”

 

“A couple of times. Once with Ron after I turned seventeen. I had quite the head the next day, but I was rather proud I didn’t get sick. Got pissed with that Muggle bloke I had sex with at some party he took me to. What happened when you were drunk?”

 

“A few of us in Slytherin got plastered on Ogden’s one night. You should have seen Zabini. He kept transfiguring things into various wigs and then doing impressions of the Hogwarts professors. It was absolutely hysterical.” He chuckled. “I almost pissed myself I was laughing so hard when he did Flitwick.”

 

Harry laughed. “I can’t believe you got drunk in the dorm.”

 

“It was a bit risky,” Draco admitted. “Snape would have killed us, Slytherins or not. But we were celebrating Daphne’s birthday, and we all wound up getting shitfaced.”

 

“Daphne.” Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Which one is she?”

 

“The other girl I screwed,” Draco said, grinning at Harry.

 

“Ah-ha, I learn her name at last!” Harry said, pointing at Draco. “Should I be jealous?”

 

“Hardly,” Draco said. “We had a good time, but it wasn’t serious.”

 

“I think we should get drunk one night and have ourselves a good time,” Harry said, stepping closer to Draco. He ran his hand down Draco’s chest and let it rest on his belt. He’d actually managed to convince Draco not to wear robes to the more informal meeting today, but he was still dressed smartly in a button-down and trousers. “I want to know what you’re like when you’re piss-faced.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“I just think it would be amusing,” Harry said, shrugging.

 

“When the war’s over, we’ll get completely smashed one night,” Draco promised. “I’ll even let you take advantage of me.”

 

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Harry pulled Draco closer by his belt. “I’ll let you take advantage of me now, even though I’ve only had one beer.”

 

“Slag,” Draco said, capturing Harry’s mouth.

 

They snogged for a while, but when Harry’s hands started to roam a bit too much, Draco pushed him back. “We’re not doing this again in the kitchen—not with Lupin liable to walk in at any moment.”

 

“That’s too bad,” Harry said. “I have fond memories of this table.”

 

Draco’s smile was slow and wicked. “I know you do.”

 

“We could always lock the door.”

 

“Or we could just go upstairs.”

 

Harry slid his arms around Draco and kissed him. The next thing Draco knew, they were standing in their bedroom.

 

“Nice one,” he said against Harry’s lips.

 

“I thought so.” Harry smiled. “Hurry up and take advantage of me, will you?”

 

Draco laughed and kissed Harry again. He was more than willing to do as Harry asked—in fact, he was looking forward to it.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five

 

 

“Oh, you just missed Albus,” Remus said when Harry and Draco walked into the kitchen next morning. “He wants to see the two of you.”

 

They exchanged a glance. “Have we done something wrong?” Harry asked.

 

“We aren’t students—he can’t give us detention,” Draco reminded him as he sat down at the table and helped himself to tea.

 

“Is it about the, er, demonstration yesterday?”

 

“I don’t know, he didn’t say. I told him eleven o’clock should be fine…?”

 

“Yes, that’s fine,” Draco said. “I can give him the Apparition Hoops I have finished. I completely forgot to take them to the meeting yesterday.”

 

“How many more do you have finished?” Harry asked.

 

“Six.”

 

“Six?” Harry said, surprised. “How did you get so many done so quickly? Didn’t you just give him some right before Godric’s Hollow?”

 

“Yes, but they have to cure overnight, and these six weren’t ready when I took the last batch to him. They’re ready now. I have three more from yesterday morning that are almost done. Just the final stage and the curing left.”

 

“You’re making them more quickly now,” Remus commented.

 

“Yes, a little. I’ve gotten more proficient at it the more I’ve done it. It took me a bit there to make those improvements, so that slowed me down there for a while, but I think it was worth the time. Now I’m just trying to mass produce them.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Harry asked.

 

Draco cut his eyes at him. “No offence, but I’m not sure I trust your potion making abilities for this.”

 

Harry stuck out his tongue. “It isn’t all potions, is it?”

 

“No, but I’d have to take the time to teach you all the spells and stages, and I get the impression Dumbledore wants them as fast as possible. Besides, I work better alone.”

 

“All right. While you’re doing that, I’ll try researching for another spell to annihilate the Dark Wanker.”

 

Remus choked on his tea. “The _what??”_

 

“It’s Voldemort’s new nickname,” Harry said gleefully. “It’s a bit of a long story involving the twins, but we came up with some new nicknames for Snake-face last night after the meeting.”

 

“The Dark Wanker.” Remus rolled it around in his mouth, trying it out. “A bit crude, and not what I’d use in mixed company, but it does have a ring to it. What were the others?”

 

Draco snickered at Remus actually liking the nickname. “Uh, let’s see. I believe one was ‘You-Know-Who’s-A-Wanker’.”

 

Harry was still laughing. “The other was ‘He Who Must Be Named A Wanker’.”

 

Remus held up a hand as he laughed. “You said the twins are involved in this? Sweet Merlin, they’ll be selling talking Voldemort dolls that say the nickname before the month’s out.”

 

Draco and Harry grinned at one another. “We’ll have to tell them that one,” Harry said. “It’s a good one. I think they were starting with T-shirts, but I’m sure they’ve already come up with loads of ideas for other things.”

 

Remus was still smiling as he shook his head. “Those two really take the biscuit.”

 

“Draco was actually getting along with them last night,” Harry put in.

 

“Were you? That’s nice.”

 

Draco gave Harry a baleful look. “Well enough, I suppose.”

 

“Speaking of yesterday, I was very impressed by the duel, Harry. You’ve really mastered the double spell skill.”

 

“Wouldn’t have ever been able to do it without you and Draco,” Harry pointed out. “Wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as I am now without your lessons, Remus. Thanks for all the training you’ve done with us. I know everyone appreciates it, but I do especially.”

 

“You’re quite welcome. I’ve enjoyed it, and it’s been good practise for me as well. I’ve learnt quite a bit from Draco myself.”

 

Draco inclined his head. “Happy I could help.” He took a sip of tea to fortify himself. “I, uh, I owe you my thanks as well. You didn’t have to include me in the training sessions. I appreciate that you did. I’ve seen the difference in my abilities during these battles. A couple of those shields you taught us have especially come in handy a few times.”

 

“I’m glad you were willing to join us, and I’m glad you learnt some useful things,” Remus said, smiling. “I have to tell you, Draco, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, what with the training and living in this house together.”

 

Draco was a bit taken aback. He didn’t know if he’d ever really get used to Gryffindor bluntness. “I, um, it’s been nice getting to know you as well, Lupin.”

 

Harry wanted to smile at Draco’s obvious discomfort at this sharing of feelings but didn’t. 

 

“You can call me Remus, you know,” Remus said mildly, finishing off his bacon. “Most of my friends do.”

 

The manners with which Draco had been raised dictated he call people older than himself by their surnames—adding the proper respectful title if he was speaking to them personally. He’d taken to calling Remus “Lupin” since they were living in the same house, as “Mr Lupin” or “Professor Lupin” just seemed too formal for a housemate. Given names were reserved for friends. Did he really consider Remus Lupin, a werewolf, a friend? Thinking about it, Draco supposed he did.

 

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll work on that. Might take me a while to break the habit.”

 

“That’s fine,” Remus said. “It’s not easy breaking habits.”

 

Neither Draco nor Harry missed the subtle compliment to Draco.

 

Harry thought he’d do a good deed and save his boyfriend from any further personal conversation. “What do you think Voldemort will do in retaliation for the failure to take Godric’s Hollow?”

 

“I know Severus was already punished,” Remus said soberly. “From the little he said, all of the Death Eaters were.”

 

Harry winced. He knew all about Voldemort’s punishments, and as much as he disliked Snape, he didn’t wish Voldemort’s wrath on anyone.

 

“I’m sorry for that,” he said, and meant it.

 

Draco had gone a little pale at Remus’ words. “Do you know how bad it was?”

 

“No, you know he’s not exactly forthcoming about that sort of thing,” Remus said. “I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t think how upsetting the news might be to both of you.”

 

“It’s fine,” Draco said brusquely.

 

“Do you think he’ll attack somewhere else?” Harry asked, changing the subject slightly.

 

“Albus does, and I must say I agree with him. When I talked to Albus yesterday, he expressed a little surprise that he hasn’t retaliated already.”

 

“If he punished all the Death Eaters harshly, he has to give them a little time to recover,” Draco said quietly. “Snape has special potions that help him get over the Cruciatus faster than one normally does, but the others will need more time. I’d expect something very soon though. Possibly even today.”

 

“We’ll be ready,” Harry said. “If we can actually get there in time, we’ll be ready.”

 

“We will,” Remus agreed. He gave Harry a surreptitious look. “I think I’ll get started on the clearing up if you are both finished eating.”

 

Harry and Draco nodded, and Draco immediately excused himself. “I’ll go get those Hoops for Dumbledore now.” He disappeared through the doorway and up the stairs.

 

“That wasn’t the most comfortable meal for Draco, was it?” Remus commented.

 

“No,” Harry said, still staring thoughtfully at the doorway. He looked at Remus. “I think maybe I’ll go talk to him.”

 

“That’s a good idea. Good luck.”

 

Harry nodded and went upstairs to the second floor. Finding the room Draco used as his “lab” deserted, he continued upstairs to their room. It too was empty. Puzzled, Harry checked the other rooms on the third floor. Then he had a brainstorm.

 

He went up two more flights and opened the door to the roof. Harry and Ron had discovered it over the summer, and Harry had shown it to Draco one day when they’d been bored. There wasn’t much there—Harry supposed some seating and perhaps a little garden might have been at one time—but Draco was sitting there with his arms around his drawn-up knees.

 

“A little chilly up here,” Harry observed.

 

When Draco didn’t respond, Harry sat down next to him and cast a warming spell.

 

“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly.

 

“Not really.”

 

“It might do you some good. You never talk about what it was like when you were a spy.”

 

“It’s not exactly a pleasant memory.”

 

“All of my memories aren’t pleasant either. But I’ve told you some of them, and it did help.”

 

Draco was silent for a long time before he said, “It was very difficult, being around them so often. It was also very strange sometimes. Voldemort liked to make grand entrances. While the Death Eaters were gathered waiting for him to arrive, they’d stand around chatting, like it was some kind of social event. Like yesterday at Hogwarts. They’d talk business or about their families, like they weren’t about to bow down to a psychopathic Dark Lord who would possibly torture them for fun or send them out on some raid where they might die. I’d stand off to the side, just watching and listening to them. I found it quite bizarre.”

 

“I imagine so. It is odd to think of Death Eaters acting in such a way.”

 

“Once the Dark Lord arrived, we’d have to kneel. I hated that part. Then we’d just stand there, listening to one of his rants or his plans. He’d give out either praise or punishments. Various Death Eaters would report on their assignments. He only called on me once, and I thought for sure I was going to be tortured or killed. That was the time he told me I wouldn’t be going back to Hogwarts, as I wasn’t providing any useful information. I still can’t believe he didn’t turn his wand on me then. Snape saved me—made up some plausible excuse that for whatever reason, the Dark Lord accepted.

 

“A few minutes later he made me torture my father.”

 

Harry sucked in a breath. “That bastard.”

 

Draco had been staring straight ahead but now looked down at his hands. “Hardest thing I’d ever done—at least up until that point in my life. Killing for the first time was harder, but that came later. I didn’t like my father, and I certainly didn’t trust him, but I didn’t want to torture him. I did it, though. And I obviously did it well enough that my father praised me for it afterwards.”

 

“He what?” Harry was shocked.

 

Draco laughed humourlessly. “I was as stunned as you. He told me he was proud I was becoming such a good servant of our Lord. I was living up to the Malfoy name.” He paused and a bitterly sad expression crossed his face. “For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be a Malfoy.”

 

“You’re changing the name Malfoy back to something respectable. That you can be proud of.”

 

“Perhaps.” Draco sighed. “At the end of the meetings, the Dark Lord would give out new assignments. Those assigned to lead an attack chose their own teams. I’d always wish myself invisible then, but of course it didn’t work. I wasn’t a favourite, but I was chosen far too often for my liking.”

 

“I would have been scared to death.”

 

Draco smiled a little, but it was tinged with bitterness. “I was terrified. I didn’t want to die pretending I was serving some Dark Lord. I didn’t want to die at all. So I made myself very good at what I had to do. Whenever I could get away with it, I’d use less potent spells, like some of the ones Snape taught me that he’d invented that looked worse than they were. But I couldn’t always get away with that, and when I couldn’t, I did what was necessary. I hurt people. I tortured people. I burned homes and businesses. I killed a woman.” His lip curled. “I told you I wasn’t a nice person. There’s a part of me that’s Dark.”

 

Harry was silent for a while. Then he said, “I told Ron and Hermione once that spies had to do things they didn’t want to do, and sometimes those things were really bad. I believe that. You were only doing what circumstances forced you to do. As you just said, you only did those things when you had no choice.”

 

“I know that. My goal at that point in my life was self-preservation. I don’t regret doing what I had to do to stay alive. It’s sort of like how I view killing my father—I don’t regret doing it, but I wish I’d never been put in the position of having to do it in the first place.”

 

“I do, too,” Harry said softly. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but Dumbledore was part of the reason you were in that position. He’s the one who made you a spy. That’s a lot to put on someone who wasn’t even of age yet.”

 

“I might have been just shy of seventeen, but I wasn’t a child any longer. And I’m the one who agreed to be a spy. You had quite a bit dumped on you when you were still a child, being told you were the one prophesied to kill a Dark Lord.”

 

“That’s true. Neither of us have had an easy go of it. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons we fit so well together.” Harry hesitated. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“I might not answer.”

 

“What happened between you and your father? In school it seemed like you practically worshipped him. But obviously something changed along the way.”

 

Draco rolled up his sleeve and studied the Dark Mark on his forearm. How he hated it. He showed it to Harry. “This isn’t enough?”

 

“That’s plenty, but I have a feeling there’s more to the story.”

 

Draco sighed again. “Until he went to prison, my father was everything I wanted to be. He was rich. He was powerful. He was influential. Then the Dark Lord returned, and my father went straight back into his service. Not just because he was obligated to, or was afraid not to, but because he _wanted_ to. At first that didn’t bother me. I’d heard stories of how powerful the Dark Lord was. I’d been taught to believe Mudbloods were ruining the wizarding world, and I believed it.

 

“Then he was arrested—in part due to you, which just made me hate you more. Later, after much introspection, I realised that was the first time I saw that my father was fallible. When he escaped Azkaban after a few months, he didn’t come back home right away, of course. It would have been too obvious. But he started popping in every now and then. I was at school, but he started writing coded letters to me, talking about me becoming a Death Eater. I count myself lucky I was still only sixteen, because if it had been up to him, I would have been Marked much earlier. I think he wanted to make up for his failure at the Department of Mysteries by giving the Dark Lord a gift—me. My father had been a strong, loyal Death Eater before he was imprisoned. But after Voldemort arranged for the Death Eaters’ escape…he was more than just loyal. He was rabid. 

 

“The Christmas holidays weren’t very festive at Malfoy Manor sixth-year. My father was there quite often, regaling me with stories of the Dark Lord’s power and the honour of serving him. He was so very eager for me to join. My mother was entirely against it and was quite vocal in saying so. My mother’s not a Death Eater and didn’t want her son leading such a dangerous life. She said the Malfoys were doing plenty for the Dark Lord, what with my father being a high-ranking member—he still was, despite the fuck-up at the Ministry—and partially bankrolling the Dark Lord’s campaign to take over the wizarding world. I personally think the money was the reason my father stayed in favour.”

 

Draco fell silent for a few minutes.

 

“You said you met Voldemort once, before you were Marked. Did it happen over Christmas?”

 

“Yes. The Dark Lord used the Manor for a meeting twice over the holidays. After the first one, my father sent for me and introduced—really, it was more like presented—me to his Dark Lord.” Draco looked back out over the houses. “He’s a horrible looking creature, isn’t he?” he mused.

 

“He is, yes,” Harry agreed. “He used to be quite handsome when he was Tom Riddle, but when he came back—whatever magic he used to create a new body certainly changed how he looked.” He paused. “What happened when you met Voldemort?”

 

“Not much, really. He made some comment about looking forward to having me join after I was of age, and of course I said something about being honoured that he’d want me. But I could see the madness. It sounds fanciful, but I could feel the evil emanating from him.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Harry said.

 

“I was already questioning the wisdom of becoming a Death Eater. The Dark Lord wasn’t the only mad one—Azkaban changed my father. I suppose it was the Dementors that made him a little insane. He said and did things he would have never done if he was rational.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“He struck my mother once when she said he wasn’t handing me over to the Dark Lord. I hit him back. It surprised him so much, I was able to draw my wand on him. I threatened him, told him if he ever hit my mother again, he’d regret it. He just laughed.” He paused then added thoughtfully, “There’s a distinct way the mad laugh—my aunt laughs the same way as my father did that night. He laughed and said he applauded my boldness and the viciousness of my threats.”

 

“What did you threaten him with?” Harry asked, fascinated despite himself.

 

“I made several, but I think the one that impressed him so much was when I said I’d sever his bollocks, stuff them down his throat, and wait to see which killed him first—bleeding out or suffocation.”

 

Harry winced and felt a sympathetic twinge in his own balls. “That was, uh…very creative. Did he ever strike your mother again?”

 

“Not to my knowledge. My mother is a strong woman and would have taken action herself if I hadn’t stepped in so quickly. I know he’d never hit her before because the expression on her face when it happened was pure and simple shock.”

 

“Will you tell me about your mother?”

 

Draco stiffened a little. His hands clenched into fists where they rested against his knees and a sickness roiled his belly. “I think she’s probably dead.”

 

Harry was horrified. “Why?”

 

“Punishment for my betrayal. It’s how the Dark Lord operates.”

 

“You don’t know for sure though. She may still be alive—you can’t give up hope.”

 

Draco shrugged. “I do hope she’s alive. I hope she disappeared the moment she found out what I’d done. We have property all over the continent—we even have homes in India and Australia and North America from back when they were colonies.”

 

It suddenly occurred to Harry that Draco had not only risked himself by rescuing him—he had risked his own mother. What did you say to someone who’d done so much for you? Harry decided not to try and come up with any words—he knew instinctively Draco didn’t want the fact acknowledged.

 

“When this war is over, we’ll look for her,” he promised. He had no positive feelings for Narcissa Malfoy, but she obviously meant something to Draco, so he was willing to make the promise to help. “We’ll find her.”

 

Draco smiled a little. “Ever the optimist.”

 

Harry returned the smile and thought Draco might accept his touch now. He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Someone has to be.”

 

“You’re better at it than I am.”

 

“I don’t know about that. You had to be pretty optimistic to even think about falling in love with me.”

 

Draco turned his head and finally met Harry’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. The best thing that will probably ever happen to me.”

 

Harry abruptly felt the sting of tears in his eyes and couldn’t speak for a moment.

 

When he finally found his voice, he said, “I used to think finding out I was a wizard was the best thing that ever happened to me. It will always rank up there at the top, if for no other reason than I would have never met you if I hadn’t joined the magical world. But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too.” He kissed Draco softly. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Draco said. He kissed Harry back and the kiss spun out, slowly, sweetly. Harry’s heart ached with the beauty of it.

 

They sat outside for a while longer, just holding hands and appreciating the silence.

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

Dumbledore arrived promptly at eleven. After the usual offer of tea, Harry and Draco sat down with him in the drawing room.

 

“What did you need to see us about?” Harry asked, a little anxious.

 

“There’s an idea I’ve been mulling over for a while I’d like to discuss with you. But I must first make a confession: I’ve been watching you, Harry.”

 

“Watching me?” Harry had a horrible flash of Dumbledore as a Peeping Tom in their bedroom.

 

When he saw Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle, he had a feeling Dumbledore knew exactly where his mind had gone. He automatically strengthened his Occlumency shields but didn’t think Dumbledore had actually been reading his mind.

 

“In battle. I saw you fight in Little Whinging and was impressed, but what I saw in Godric’s Hollow was exceptional. You fought those two Death Eaters for at least ten minutes before Tonks and the third Death Eater joined you, and then continued to fight for a good ten minutes more. I never saw you falter. You never seemed to tire. And the magic you were using required a great deal of power, especially maintaining a strong shield while casting a completely different spell at the same time. You did that wandlessly, and I’m imagining some of it nonverbally—I wasn’t close enough to actually hear your words.” Dumbledore caught the expression on Harry’s face. “Is what I’m saying not accurate?”

 

Harry was listening, but he was also reeling with shock. ‘ _Dumbledore saw me kill!’_ had been Harry’s first thought when Dumbledore had started describing the fight in Godric’s Hollow. ‘If he was watching, he saw me kill,’ he thought frantically. ‘He saw me using Dark magic. He never said a word.’

 

Suddenly realising both Dumbledore and Draco were looking at him expectantly, he quickly replayed the last of Dumbledore’s comments in his head.

 

“Sorry, sir. It’s accurate,” he said hastily.

 

Draco gave him a questioning look, but Harry ignored him.

 

“How did you feel after you’d won that particular fight?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“Well, I was a little out of breath,” Harry said, with a slight nervous chuckle. “I didn’t realise I’d been at it so long. Are you sure I was fighting for, what, over twenty minutes? That doesn’t seem possible.”

 

“I assure you, it was quite a long fight. I was very impressed with Nymphadora as well—she’s very good for being such a young Auror. But other than being out of breath, how did you feel? Weakened at all?”

 

Harry was reminded of his earlier conversation with Draco and thought about his answer carefully. “No. I mean, I was a little tired, and I was a lot worried about Draco, but other than my arm being burned, I felt fine.”

 

“When you were fighting, did you find yourself using more power or less as the fight dragged on?”

 

Harry didn’t have to think very hard about that. “More. The two I started with were quite skilled. I kept casting spells with more and more strength, trying to shut them down. It took forever, but I was finally able to…take care of them. Then I had to deal with the third one.” Harry hesitated but couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “You saw me kill that Death Eater, didn’t you?”

 

Dumbledore suddenly looked very old and very sad. “Yes, I did. I also know it wasn’t the first time you’ve killed.”

 

“Are you…” Harry wet his lips. “Are you disappointed in me?”

 

Draco watched Harry’s face and could see he was genuinely distressed by the idea Dumbledore might think less of him. Draco decided he’d be the one thinking less of Dumbledore if the man didn’t put Harry’s mind at ease.

 

Dumbledore leaned forward and looked Harry straight in the eye. “No, I am not. Not in the slightest way. Please believe me on that. What I am, is proud of you—not for killing, per se, but for doing all you’ve done, for doing it so well, and for carrying your burdens—burdens that would break many strong men—so well. I told you once that all of what you did, all of what you handled as a child during your years at Hogwarts, was extraordinary. And it was. Now here you are, not even a year into your majority, living through things, doing things, bearing things that no man should ever have to. You are exceptional, Harry Potter. I know you do not think of yourself as that way, which is simply another point to your credit. Everyone who knows you is proud of you. But no one is prouder than me.”

 

For the second time that day, Harry had tears pricking his eyes. He wasn’t the type who usually cried, but first Draco and now Dumbledore were saying things to him that made it feel like his heart was going to split open in his chest.

 

“I…I…” Harry cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I feel like I’m just doing what I have to, but knowing you think I’m doing a good job at it, well, it means a lot to me.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “You mean a lot to very many people, Harry. Don’t forget that.

 

“But I digress. I believe I was going to tell you about an idea I have. Seeing you in action both during the battles and yesterday—I’ve always had faith that you have it within you to defeat Voldemort. But now I know you’re ready to do it. Seeing you yesterday, together with what I saw in Godric’s Hollow, made me realise my plan—one part of which I thought to be so farfetched as to be impossible—might actually be viable now.”

 

“What’s your plan?” Draco asked. He was a little nervous about what Dumbledore had up his sleeve—he knew whatever it was would be dangerous for Harry.

 

“I believe we should set a trap for Tom. Set the stage for Harry to finally be able to confront him.”

 

“What kind of trap?”

 

“One of our problems has been the surprise nature of most of Tom’s attacks. We never know when or where they might be, and we certainly never know if Tom will actually be there. He usually isn’t, despite the fact he was at Little Whinging and Godric’s Hollow. As you know, it’s difficult to plan for something when you don’t have the necessary information.

 

“I feel it is very important _we_ set the stage for your confrontation with Voldemort. We need to have as much control over the circumstances as possible. I’m proposing we use Hogwarts as that stage.”

 

“Hogwarts?” Harry grew cold. “But think of the damage that could be done. If I fail—”

 

“You’re not going to fail,” Draco cut him off sharply.

 

“I don’t mean ultimately,” he assured Draco. “I just meant if I failed in that specific attempt and had to try again later.” But Harry privately worried that failure might just mean death for him. “He could take over the castle.”

 

“I believe the benefits of using Hogwarts as our battleground outweigh the risks. It’s familiar territory to all members of the Order and especially you, Harry. There are many in the Order who view Hogwarts as a sort of home, as I feel you do. People will fight to protect their home. It is also empty at this time, reducing the chance of bystanders being injured. Most importantly, Hogwarts has many protections, some of them quite ancient. You and I can add to them.”

 

“Me?” Harry asked, very surprised.

 

“Yes, you. You have great power, Harry. More than I realised. I suspect even more than I saw at Godric’s Hollow and in yesterday’s duel. You were holding back yesterday, weren’t you?”

 

“I…yes, sir, I was,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t really want to hurt anyone. It was meant to be clean.”

 

“Of course. I would expect nothing less from you. But there is magic that is best done with two people—and those two must possess significant power.” He looked to Draco. “Remus tells me you are powerful as well.”

 

“Not as powerful as Harry,” Draco said quickly. “But I can say without false modesty I have more power than most.”

 

Dumbledore smiled a little. “I think there may be a role you can play when Harry and I add more protection to Hogwarts.”

 

Harry held up a hand. “Wait a minute. You’re serious about this? You think I’m powerful enough to perform whatever this magic is that can help protect Hogwarts?”

 

“I’ll need to see you perform a few spells of a different sort, but yes, I’m fairly certain you are.”

 

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Then he looked at Draco, who was smirking at him a little.

 

“I told you so,” Draco said smugly.

 

Dumbledore lifted his brows in question. Harry shot Draco a look warning him to keep his mouth shut, but of course Draco ignored him.

 

“I told Harry he’d rival you one day.”

 

“I’ll never rival Professor Dumbledore,” Harry denied, speaking directly to Draco.

 

“If you are as powerful as I think you are, you may very well, once you are a little older,” Dumbledore said complacently. “Let’s see how things go, but after the war, if you’re interested, I think I could teach you a thing or two.”

 

Harry was back to staring at Dumbledore. He realised he was gaping and closed his mouth. “I’d be honoured, sir, to try and learn anything you’d be willing to teach me.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “It would be my honour to have a student such as yourself. But that is for later. We’ve gotten a bit off-track. My plan is this: I will issue a challenge to Lord Voldemort, to meet me alone, one-on-one, face-to-face. I’ll position myself within the Anti-Disapparition wards already in place at Hogwarts, which I’ll be extending a little farther out past the gates. Voldemort and whatever Death Eaters he brings with him will have to come within the wards to get near me.”

 

“You said you’d tell him to come alone,” Harry said. “You don’t think he will?”

 

“No. He’ll suspect some kind of trap and bring along reinforcements, but that won’t be a problem.”

 

“Do you think he’ll actually show up if he thinks it’s a trap?” Draco asked doubtfully.

 

“I do. Voldemort is many things, and one of those things is arrogant. He’ll believe he can beat me at my own game, so to speak. And when he arrives to see me alone, he’ll grow even more confident, and I hope, careless.”

 

“You won’t really be alone, will you?” Harry asked. “Sir, that’s too dangerous.”

 

“I won’t actually be alone; I’ll only appear to be. You’ll be there—and if you’re there, I assume Draco will be as well. I recommend you pick a few others to be with you to serve as protection in case you need it. You’ll be hiding in the Forbidden Forest. You have your Cloak and the others will need to be Disillusioned.”

 

“Then what happens?”

 

“I serve as your distraction, Harry, and give you the opportunity to fulfil the prophecy by killing Voldemort.”

 

Harry considered this. It could work…

 

“What about that red shield he used before? What if he uses that?” Draco asked.

 

“There is that possibility, of course. But I don’t think he will, at least not right away. Not if he believes me to be alone. Harry will need to strike quickly, before Voldemort can attempt to engage me in a duel.”

 

“What about the Death Eaters?” Harry asked. “There’s the chance I could miss hitting Voldemort, or he could order them to attack you. Even if I were able to kill him right away, the Death Eaters would surely attack in retaliation. Some might try to flee, but there are those who I know wouldn’t watch their master die without then seeking vengeance—Bellatrix Lestrange, for example. I know she’d attack. You can’t just be standing there alone.”

 

“Some may try to run, but I will hopefully be able to lock the gates before they do. Those who try to Apparate will find themselves unable to do so,” Dumbledore reminded Harry. “As to my being alone, I won’t be by that point.”

 

“You’re expecting Harry and the few people he has with him to take on all the Death Eaters?” Draco asked in disbelief.

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, not at all. The rest of the Order and hopefully many Aurors will Apparate in within moments of Voldemort’s death.”

 

“But the wards—” Harry cut himself off as the light bulb went off in his head. “Draco’s Apparition Hoops. You’re going to use them.”

 

“Indeed I am. The Order and as many Aurors as possible will be waiting in a prearranged location. On my signal, they will use Draco’s marvellous invention to come onto the Hogwarts grounds and fight whatever Death Eaters choose to fight.”

 

“I like the plan,” Draco said thoughtfully. “It’s fairly solid. There are still quite a few things that could go wrong, though.”

 

“No plan is fool-proof. The plan hinges on Harry being able to kill Voldemort quickly. If that’s not possible, I’ll bring in the Order and we’ll fight. It will be the responsibility of every person there to do what they can to give Harry another opportunity to defeat Voldemort by keeping the Death Eaters busy. It will be the responsibility of those with Harry to provide him with the protection he needs, so he is free to completely focus on getting to Voldemort.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. “All of a sudden this feels very real.”

 

Dumbledore looked at him sympathetically. “My dear boy, if I could spare you this, I would. But fate has chosen you. And I personally believe fate has chosen well.”

 

“I won’t let you down,” Harry said.

 

“It isn’t a matter of letting me down—though you could never do that. It’s a matter of doing what you were born to do. Few of us ever realise the exact purpose for which we were put on this earth. You are one of the few who know.”

 

Harry squared his shoulders. “What do we need to do to put this plan into action?”

 

“There are several things that must happen before I can challenge Tom. Draco, how close are you to providing enough Hoops for all of the Order to have one?”

 

Draco pursed his lips. “I have six more for you today, bringing the total to twenty-four. I have three more that will be ready tomorrow, so that’s twenty-seven.”

 

“The Order numbers forty-two. The three of us shall not need Hoops, nor shall Harry’s team. I think a team of five or six will work. If my maths can be trusted, we are only seven or eight shy of the minimum needed.”

 

“I’ll need a few days, but you mentioned the Aurors. We’ll need more for them.”

 

“Which is why I am going to ask you to make as many as possible, as quickly as possible.”

 

“I’ll get right on it,” Draco promised.

 

“What else needs to be done?” Harry asked.

 

“I need to test your abilities. You’ll need some training before we add the protections to Hogwarts. That will take some time. You need to be thinking of who you’d like on your team, but don’t mention it to anyone yet. I am going to ask you to keep this to yourselves until everything is in place—at that time, I shall inform the Order of our plan. We will select a date, and I will issue my challenge to Tom.”

 

Harry and Draco nodded in agreement.

 

“Are the two of you available tomorrow to come to Hogwarts?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

 

“Can we make it either early morning or early afternoon? Either of those would allow me to make the best use of time in making the Hoops,” Draco said. “I have to take a break between two of the stages and either of those times would fit in well with the timing of the process.”

 

“Early morning would be ideal,” Dumbledore said. “Shall we say eight?”

 

“Works for me,” Harry agreed. Draco nodded his agreement.

 

“Then I shall take my leave,” Dumbledore said, standing up. Draco and Harry rose with him. “I will see you gentlemen tomorrow morning. Thank you for your time today. No need to show me out, I plan to hunt up Remus and talk to him before I leave. I saw the Apparition Hoops in the kitchen when I arrived—I’ll pick them up on my out.”

 

With a final nod, Dumbledore left the room. They heard him move down the stairs to the kitchen and then just looked at one another.

 

“Holy shit,” Harry said. “Did that just happen? Did we really just plan what could be the final battle against Voldemort in our drawing room?”

 

“I believe we did,” Draco said, smiling a little. “It feels good to have a plan.” He looked at Harry seriously. “How are you with this plan? You’re the most important person involved—you have to be comfortable with it.”

 

Harry sat back down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m as comfortable with it as I think I could ever be with a plan that sets me up to finally kill Voldemort. Having a plan makes it so real—it’s always been something that was _going_ to happen _somehow_ —I could never quite picture it in my head. But now I can. It’s a little bit…overwhelming. This whole day’s been a little intense.”

 

In a gesture that surprised Harry, Draco sat down on the sofa next to him and pulled on Harry’s shoulders until Harry’s back was to him.

 

“What are you do—” Draco’s hands settled on his shoulders and began to knead the muscles there. “Oh. Oh, that’s nice.”

 

“You looked a little tense,” Draco said. Harry felt more than a little tense, not that Draco didn’t understand why. “You had a lot of dumped on you just now.”

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harry sighed as Draco’s hands worked their magic. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

 

Draco laughed. “Yes. Not to undo my work here and make you tighten up again, but are you ok with all this?”

 

“With the plan? Yes, or I will be. I think I just need a little time to let it settle in my head.”

 

“And the rest of it?”

 

Harry groaned as Draco’s thumbs worked on the knots in his shoulders. “You mean the part where Dumbledore thinks I’m powerful enough to do some crazy magic that can actually help protect a giant, ancient castle built by four of the greatest wizards and witches of all time?”

 

Draco chuckled. “Yes, that part.”

 

“I think I’m still in shock. Draco, I know you and now other people are all saying I’m powerful, and I’ll admit I’ve gotten stronger since I started training with you. I know I can do some things other people can’t. But when I think of someone powerful, I envision Dumbledore and Voldemort. I see them at the Department of Mysteries. I see Voldemort in the graveyard. I think of Dumbledore defeating Grindelwald. I don’t see myself.”

 

“You probably never will,” Draco said. “But that doesn’t mean others don’t see you that way. And it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’m very curious what sort of tests Dumbledore plans for you tomorrow.”

 

“I’m a little nervous. What if I can’t do what he asks me to do?”

 

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to do it,” Draco said confidently. “I’m also wondering what sort of role he has in mind for me.”

 

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” Harry rolled his neck before tilting his head back to look at Draco upside down. “Give us a kiss.”

 

Draco did so. “I need to go work on the Apparition Hoops.”

 

“Oh, right, you do. Don’t you want to eat first?”

 

“Yes. Then I’ll start working.”

 

They headed down to the kitchen to have lunch and get started on the rest of their day.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

They heard the news of an attack on a Muggle neighbourhood after dinner on the WWN. It was a bad one. There were multiple deaths, a large number of injured, and excessive property damage. Remus fire-called Dumbledore to get more information, but no one responded, so he tried the Weasleys. Arthur was a good source of information, seeing as he worked at the Ministry. He told them it had happened very quickly. The Aurors had gone as soon as they heard, but the moment they arrived, all the Death Eaters Disapparated. By the time anyone from the Order learned of the attack, it was over. Voldemort had taken some revenge for Godric’s Hollow.

 

Harry was frustrated. Beyond frustrated. They’d won an important battle at Little Whinging and an even more important one at Godric’s Hollow. Yet they had no defence against these surprise, lightning-quick attacks. It was one thing to keep an eye on wizarding areas—there were so few of them. But Muggles were everywhere. Voldemort knew this and was using it to his advantage.

 

“I hate that we can’t do anything. I feel so helpless,” he complained to Draco as they were getting ready for bed.

 

“We’re doing everything we can do,” Draco replied, “and don’t bite my head off and say it isn’t enough. I know it’s not. But you have to be realistic, Harry. And we should be grateful none of the wizarding areas have fallen. We’ve been able to stop all of those attacks so far.”

 

“I know,” Harry grumbled. “It still makes me crazy to find out after the fact that there’s been an attack.”

 

“Come on to bed. You’ve got what I suspect will be some challenging magic to perform early tomorrow.”

 

They got into bed. After a long, slow kiss good night, Draco fell asleep, leaving Harry awake to think about what awaited him in the morning. What kind of tests would Dumbledore set for him? What if he failed? It would not only be embarrassing, but it might mean they’d have to change their plan to use Hogwarts as a battleground because Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to add more protection to the castle. Or would the existing protections be enough? Harry mentally tossed and turned for some time before finally drifting off into a restless sleep.

 

He woke up screaming.

 

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up and grabbed Harry by the shoulders.

 

“Harry!” he said urgently. “Wake up, Harry!” He gave Harry a shake, and Harry nearly knocked him over as he sat bolt upright in bed. Even in the darkness, Draco could see his eyes were wild.

 

“Harry, are you awake?” Draco touched his shoulder, and Harry’s head snapped around. He stared unseeingly at Draco for a moment and then he blinked. His breath expelled in a great whoosh, and his body sagged a little as it lost some of its tension.

 

“Malfoy?” he asked in a dazed voice. He shook his head to clear it. “I mean, Draco. Draco. Was I…I was dreaming, right? I was dreaming?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said gently. “I’m guessing some sort of flashback?”

 

Harry shoved off the covers and stood. Draco could see he was shaking. “Where are you going?”

 

“I have to…” He left the sentence unfinished and walked to the bathroom. He lifted his pyjama top and stared at his chest. “Just a dream,” Draco heard him murmur. “Just a memory.”

 

“You weren’t feeling it this time, were you?” Draco asked, coming into the bathroom.

 

Harry turned around slowly to face him. “No, but…yes. I mean, not like that one time, when I was being whipped again. Not like that. But the memory of the pain…the memory is so strong. It’s so…vivid. I’m feeling it, but…it’s not the same as that one time. I can’t…I can’t describe it. There’s the pain, and that’s bad enough.”

 

Harry’s tired eyes were bleak as he looked at Draco. “But it’s more the remembering of how I felt. Not remembering—feeling it again. I feel it all again. The hopelessness, the fear, the dread…” Harry shook his head and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. He sighed deeply and ran both hands through his hair as he lowered his head again. “Draco, you can’t know how much I just wanted to die. You can’t know. To wish for death…it’s horrible. I wasn’t just resigned to dying, wasn’t just expecting it…I wanted it. I prayed for it. I almost…”

 

There was a flash of…something…in Harry’s eyes when they met Draco’s. It came and went so quickly, Draco almost thought he imagined it.

 

Harry turned back around and stared at himself in the mirror. Who was he looking at right then? The man he’d been while he was being tortured? The man who’d survived? Both of them?

 

“You almost what?” Draco’s question interrupted Harry’s musings.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head.

For some reason, Draco had a feeling it wasn’t nothing at all. “I wish you’d tell me.”

 

“I can’t. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. I’m not there any more. Not really. Only in my head sometimes. Only in my head,” he repeated softly, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

 

Listening to Harry talk about how he’d wanted to die—it made Draco physically ill. He could feel his gut twisting—and his heart. But he wasn’t the important person here.

 

“What can I do for you? Do you want to go back to bed? Talk? Sleep?”

 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” Harry said sharply.

 

“All right. What do you want?”

 

_“I want it all out of my head!”_ Suddenly furious, Harry swept out a hand and knocked the toiletries sitting on the bathroom counter to the floor. _“I want it gone!”_ he shouted. _“Do you understand? No, you can’t understand. No one can understand!”_

 

The rage and agony on Harry’s face when he turned to face Draco was frightening. _“Why didn’t you kill me? Why couldn’t you have just_ killed _me?”_

 

“Killed you?” Draco was so stunned he took a step back in horror before he could stop himself. “You wanted _me_ to kill you?”

 

“You. Anyone. It didn’t matter. I begged for death in my head. I couldn’t even say it aloud because I knew they wouldn’t do it then. I knew they’d keep me alive. But I thought you might. I almost asked you. I almost did. I thought you might have enough mercy to kill me.”

 

Draco felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and forcibly swallowed it down. Harry’d wanted _him_ to kill him? Sweet Merlin, what if he had asked? What if he’d done it? What if he’d felt so much pity he’d been stirred to kill the man he now loved? Could he have done it? If Harry had asked…Draco had finished the Apparition Hoop because he knew he couldn’t continue to watch Harry be tortured, couldn’t torture him again himself. What if he’d had no Hoop, no way to get Harry out?

 

Would he have killed Harry to put him out of his misery if he’d asked?

 

Draco couldn’t force himself to swallow this time. He made a lunge for the toilet and vomited violently.

“Oh, God.” Harry dropped to his knees beside him. His hands fluttered uselessly before he finally used one to hold Draco’s hair out of his face as Draco continued to empty his stomach. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

Draco spat a final time and weakly lifted his head. He wiped his sleeve over the back of mouth.

 

“You’re sorry? _You’re_ sorry?” he whispered. “How can you be sorry when there is nothing to be sorry for? You wanted to die. You think I don’t understand that?”

 

“I’m sorry I told you that. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think…”

 

Draco pulled himself off the floor and moved to the sink. The water glass they kept there was lying, probably broken, on the floor, so he cupped water in his hand and used it to rinse his mouth. Then he splashed water on his face. He watched it drip as he stared at himself in the mirror with haunted eyes.

 

“I feel like I should apologise to you. But I can’t. I can’t apologise for not killing you. If you had asked…I don’t know what I would have done if you had asked.” He shook his head and felt his stomach pitch again. “Yes, I do. I would have considered it.” He slammed his fist against the mirror, as if punching his own face. “Sweet Merlin, I would have considered it. I would have fucking considered it.”

 

His stricken eyes met Harry’s in the mirror. “What if I had done it? What if I had freed you the only way I could by giving you death? I could have killed you.” His voice broke. “I love you, and I might have killed you.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said forcefully. “It doesn’t matter now. You didn’t do it. I never asked. I didn’t ask because I couldn’t ask. I didn’t love you then, and I desperately wanted to die, but I couldn’t ask you. I couldn’t bring myself to ask you.”

 

“Because you thought I would actually do it?”

 

“No.” Harry shook his head sharply. “Because I knew you wouldn’t.”

 

“How could you possibly know that? How could you have thought it? You didn’t know who I was then, that I was a spy. I was just another Death Eater. Someone who’d always hated you. I could have killed you.” Draco froze and his face went another shade whiter. “You said you never begged anyone to kill you because you knew it would just make it worse. That you’d be kept alive longer. That you’d be tortured even more. Did you think…” He broke off and shook his head. “Of course you did.”

 

“Did I think you’d deliberately keep me alive longer? Did I think you’d prolong my pain? Draco, I knew you were different even then. I didn’t stop myself from asking you because I thought you’d do what I knew the others would do.”

 

“Then why did you? Why didn’t you ask me to give you what you wanted so badly?”

 

“I can’t explain it. I just knew you weren’t capable of it.”

 

“I was capable of killing then.”

 

“Not capable of killing _me_ if I asked you to.”

 

“But I might have. I think I actually might have.” Draco dropped his face into his hands and rubbed it hard. “I told you I realised I couldn’t torture you again. But I knew I had a possible way to avoid doing it again—getting you out with the Hoop. But what if I hadn’t had that Hoop? Would I have killed you to spare us both the pain of me torturing you again?”

 

Draco abruptly pushed past Harry and left the bathroom, _Accio_ -ing his wand as he stalked toward the bedroom door.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I have to get out of here. You don’t need me here right now. I’m the last person you need right now.”

 

“Draco, you’re the only person I need,” Harry said desperately. “I know you wouldn’t have done it. I know you now, and know you _couldn’t_ have done it. But even though I didn’t know you then like I know you now, I still knew you couldn’t do it. You wouldn’t do it.”

 

Draco whirled and looked at him. The pain and confusion and self-loathing in his eyes broke Harry’s heart. “You don’t know me at all. _I_ don’t know me at all.”

 

He fled the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry jerked it open, intending to go after him, but the corridor was empty. Fuck. He’d Apparated. Harry Apparated first to the kitchen, thinking Draco might try to use the Floo to go…somewhere. Then he heard the back door shut upstairs and cursed. Draco was headed to their Apparition point in the back garden. He Apparated to the backyard just in time to see Draco disappear.

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

Remus came clattering down the stairs, wand in hand, and found Harry standing in the open doorway to the backyard, staring into the darkness.

 

“What’s going on? What’s happened?”

 

Harry turned sharply and slammed the door. He glared at the empty hook on the wall where Draco’s cloak usually hung. “He just fucking left.”

 

“Draco? What? Why? Where’s he going?”

 

_“I don’t know!”_ Harry shouted, frustrated with the situation and angry with himself. “Dammit, I don’t know!”

 

“Back up, tell me what’s happened,” Remus demanded.

 

Harry began pacing the corridor, and Remus realised Harry was more than just angry—he was frightened. He looked like he was hanging on to control by his fingernails.

 

“Harry,” he said gently. “Let’s go down to the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me what this is all about.”

 

“I don’t want any fucking tea,” Harry bit out.

 

“Well, I do,” Remus retorted. “You’re telling me what’s going on, and you’re telling me in the damn kitchen while I make some damn tea.”

 

Remus turned and stalked to the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder to find Harry staring at him, surprise and confusion on his face. “Get your arse down here now.”

 

Shocked into obeying by a side of Remus he’d never seen, Harry followed him into the kitchen. Remus filled the kettle and slammed it on the burner.

 

“What the hell’s going on? Did you row?”

 

Harry shook his head and sank down into a chair at the table. The anger that had been fuelling him sank into a morass of despair. “No. I mean, not like you’re meaning.” He wet his lips. “Oh my God, Remus, where has he gone? It’s not safe for him anywhere.”

 

“Tell me what’s happened,” Remus said more gently, sitting down at the table. “Start at the beginning.”

 

“It’s my fault,” Harry said, dragging his hands through his messy hair. “I was upset and I…I said something I should have never said. Never ever said. I’ve never regretted saying anything more in my life.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

Harry sighed. “I…I had a dream. A flashback. I went into the bathroom, and he followed me and we were talking…I was telling him about it. And I got angry. I lost my temper, and I didn’t _think_.” He banged his fist on the table. “I didn’t think and I…I’ve driven him away.”

 

“What did you say?” Remus repeated. He got up to fix the tea, but never took his eyes off Harry.

 

Harry swallowed past the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He didn’t want to tell Remus this—he really didn’t. It was horrible and it was private and he should have kept it in his head. He should have kept his mouth shut. 

 

“I told him…when I was being held captive, I told him that, towards the end, all I wanted was to die. And I told him I almost begged them to kill me, but I didn’t. I knew if I did, they wouldn’t. They would deliberately keep me alive.

 

“I told him…I said to him…oh, fuck.” He dropped his head into his hands. “I asked him why he didn’t kill me. I told him I’d almost asked him to kill me because I thought he might be the only one merciful enough to actually do it.”

 

Remus’ brows rose. “What did he say?”

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to get into all that. It’s private. The bottom line is, he thinks he might could have actually done it. I told him I knew he couldn’t have, wouldn’t have—that the reason I never asked is that somehow I knew even then that he would never kill me, even out of mercy. But he…he freaked. And he left. And I don’t know where he is.”

 

Remus blew out a breath. “This a tough one. I can imagine he’s feeling all kinds of mixed emotions right now—guilt probably being one of them.” He handed Harry a cup of tea. “Drink this. You need it.”

 

Harry automatically took a sip and was surprised by the burn of whisky. He coughed a little. “Oh. Didn’t realise you’d laced it.”

 

“I thought you needed a bit more than tea.” Remus sat back down, cradling his own mug in his hands. “I know you’re worried about Draco. But he’s not stupid. I don’t think he’ll act rashly. I’m sure wherever he’s gone is safe.”

 

“But where would that be?” Harry’s eyes lit. “Hogwarts? Do you think he went to Hogwarts?”

 

“It’s possible. He’d have to let someone know he was at the gates, but he could have gone there.”

 

“The Malfoys have many properties. He could have gone to one of them. I don’t know where else he could have gone.”

 

Remus sighed. He didn’t know where he could have gone either—he just hoped what he’d told Harry was right, and Draco hadn’t done anything more reckless than leaving the house.

 

“Do you think he’ll come back soon?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know him as well as you do.”

 

“I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,” Harry said morosely.

 

“I would suggest trying to go back to sleep, but I have a feeling it would be a waste of breath.”

 

“Yeah, it would be. There’s no way I can sleep. You can, though. I’m just going to sit here, in case he Floos.”

 

“All right. Let me know if you hear from him, or if he comes back.”

 

“I will,” Harry promised.

 

Remus laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he walked past him to leave the kitchen. “He’ll be all right. And you’ll work this out. The two of you have some very difficult things in your lives that you’re both dealing with. I have faith everything will get sorted out.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

Remus left Harry alone in the kitchen. Harry made himself sit quietly, though what he really wanted to do was Apparate to Hogwarts to see if Draco was there. But there was no point in waking someone up or alarming them if Draco wasn’t. And Draco obviously didn’t want to be with Harry at the moment. Not that Harry completely blamed him.

 

Harry pounded his fist on the table again. Why had he said that? He’d kept that to himself this long; why couldn’t he have kept it secret forever? He hadn’t even thought of it since he’d been freed. Why had it been in his head just now?

 

Because of the flashback he’d had—it had been one of those that was mostly just feelings of despair. There’d been torture—cutting curses to his chest. But it had mostly been how he’d felt afterwards, hanging there from shackles. Even the pain of the cuts had been swallowed by the desperate desire to have all of it end. To have it over with.

 

He’d considered telling them whatever they wanted to know in the hope they would kill him afterwards. But he couldn’t. Even though it meant agony, he couldn’t give up information about the Order. He couldn’t tell them who was involved, what any of their plans were. And he couldn’t tell Voldemort the prophecy, even though it would have likely guaranteed his death. Even if he made up a prophecy, and Voldemort believed him, it wouldn’t solve the problem of the consequences of the real prophecy. He was the one who was fated to kill Voldemort, and if he let Voldemort kill him…

 

In his twisted, mixed up mind he’d somehow rationalised that if one of the Death Eaters killed him instead, the prophecy would be null and void. It wouldn’t matter if he died as long as he didn’t die at the hand of Voldemort. So he’d hoped one of them would go too far in the torture, or his body would finally just give out.

 

And Draco…he _had_ almost asked him once. One time when the torture had finished, and he’d been left alone, with only Draco—he had been Malfoy then—left to keep an eye on him. Malfoy had brought him water after a little while, and when Harry had opened his mouth to drink it, the words had almost spilled out. But as he’d told Draco just now, he’d known even then there was no point in asking. He somehow knew Draco wouldn’t take that step, even if he did feel sorry for him.

 

Why had he told Draco? He’d never dreamed this was the way Draco would react, but he’d instinctively known he should never tell him. What if he did something crazy? Or just didn’t think at all and put himself in danger? What if…what if he never came back?

 

On top of the worry about Draco, Harry was still battling the dregs of the flashback. His emotions were a mess: pain, anger, frustration, worry, and simple unhappiness all rolled into one. Harry Summoned the bottle of Firewhisky Remus had left on the counter. His remaining tea didn’t have enough it in to kill the pain.

 

 

**************************************************************

 

 

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?” Snape drawled with affected mild interest; in truth, he was very curious as to why Draco was there. He’d been awakened by Draco’s Patronus and had gone to the gates to let him in. They were back in his quarters now, and Draco was pacing up and down his sitting room. Snape had never seen him more agitated.

 

“I could have killed him,” Draco said, half to himself. “I could have. I might have.” He looked at Snape. “How do you do it? How do you handle being a spy, doing the things I know you have to do?”

 

Ah. For whatever reason, Draco was struggling with the aftermath of his time with the Death Eaters. Snape had wondered if he would—or even if he did, if he would ever show it.

 

“It is difficult,” Snape admitted, as he would to very few others, moving to the small kitchen area. He took a bottle of Ogden’s out and poured two glasses. He handed one to Draco.

 

Draco tossed half of it back like a shot. He coughed a bit and then sipped a little more.

 

“How do you handle it?” he asked again.

 

Snape took a seat and waved a hand towards an empty chair, but Draco shook his head and remained standing. He was too keyed up to sit.

 

“I have served as a spy for much longer than you did. I lived for many years when the Dark Lord was gone without any daily reminders of my time with them. Did my memories bother me sometimes? Yes. Was it difficult for me to go back to being a spy? It was. It was very difficult.

 

“Over all this time, I have learned to push it all aside. I do not allow myself to dwell on what I have done or what I must do. It took some time, but in order to survive, I learned to compartmentalise my thoughts and memories. I shut them away and keep them locked up.”

 

“I’ve tried,” Draco said. “And it’s mostly worked. I rarely let myself think about it, and when I do, I can rationalise my actions, and it doesn’t bother me so much. But it’s not working right now.”

 

“Did something happen tonight?”

 

Draco laughed hollowly. “You could say that.”

 

“Well?” Snape asked, with less impatience than he would have shown to most. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

 

“Harry had a flashback. He does sometimes. You weren’t there when he was held captive. You didn’t see what was done to him. You didn’t see him suffer. You didn’t cause him suffering by torturing him yourself.”

 

“Was Potter’s flashback about you torturing him? Has he made you feel guilty?” Unsurprisingly, Snape was set to blame Potter for Draco’s distress.

 

“No, no, not at all.” Draco paced a step away and then back. “I don’t really understand it, but he doesn’t blame me for any of that. He said that once he knew I was a spy, he understood why I did what I did. He understood I didn’t want to do it and only did it because I had to. I feel guilty about it now, much more so than I did at the time. At the time, I wouldn’t let myself think about it, like you said. But now…now that I’m with him, I do feel guilt sometimes.”

 

“There was nothing you could have done. Intervening would have only led to your own death.”

 

“I know,” Draco snapped. “I know that—here,” he said pointing to his head, “but here it’s more difficult to accept.” He laid a hand on his heart.

 

“Do you really believe you’re in love with him?” Snape didn’t bother to try and conceal his scepticism.

 

“No, I don’t just believe it—I know it for a fact,” Draco said so plainly and with such unusual emotion in his eyes that Snape believed him. “I know you don’t understand. I know most people don’t. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself. I love him.” Draco sighed. In any other situation, he’d have been terribly embarrassed to say all that to Snape, but at the moment he didn’t care. He had other, more important, feelings churning inside him.

 

“If Potter doesn’t blame you, and if he loves you, this guilt you feel will fade in time.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“If it wasn’t your use of the Cruciatus on Potter that has gotten you so upset tonight, what was it?”

 

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead with his glass. “After his flashback, we were talking about it. He said…he said he’d wanted to die.”

 

“Do you blame him?”

 

“No. It’s not that. He said there were times he’d almost begged them for death. But he hadn’t because he knew it would have likely only made things worse. And he’s right. They would have deliberately kept him alive even longer, tortured him even more.”

 

Snape was surprised Potter had still had enough awareness to understand that fact, because he had been right. He would not have been given death if he’d asked for it. The only way he would have finally been killed is if he’d given up the prophecy. It privately amazed Snape that he hadn’t. He hadn’t been there for Potter’s torture, but he could imagine quite well what the boy had gone through. Despite his feelings about Harry Potter, he could admire him for not giving in. That took much more fortitude and strength than he’d ever given Potter credit for.

 

“But tonight he said…he told me he’d almost asked me once,” Draco continued. His hand tightened into a fist as he forbade his voice from shaking. “That he’d come close to asking me to kill him. He said he thought I might be merciful enough to do it.”

 

“Why does this trouble you so much?”

 

“Because I…I don’t know what I would have ultimately done. If he’d asked…I would have considered it. I would have actually considered killing him. I know I had no feelings for him then, except perhaps of pity, but I do now. I might have done it. I might have killed him.”

 

“You would not have.”

 

“You can’t know that,” Draco said desperately. He couldn’t be calm and rational about this. “You didn’t see him suffering. You didn’t have to torture someone you knew, someone you’d gone to school with. Professor, that last time I tortured him…I knew then I couldn’t bear to do it again. It was difficult for me to torture Muggles. It wasn’t easy to torture my father. But for some reason, it was almost impossible for me to torture Harry, and I knew there was no way I could bring myself to do it again.”

 

“So you got him out.”

 

“Yes. I’d already started planning it. I’d been working on the Apparition Hoop off and on for nearly a year. After the first time I had to use the Cruciatus on Harry, I took it out again and started working on it with the idea of possibly using it. I was ostensibly on the Order’s side, and it was my duty to try to do something to save his life. It took me time to finally make it work. I didn’t particularly rush to get it done—like I said, once I left Bellatrix’s house, I’d push all of it aside and not let myself think about what was happening there. Later, after I’d had to torture him again, I found myself more motivated to get it done. But I could have worked faster. That last time I tortured him, when I realised I couldn’t do it again, that got me moving, and I finally finished it.”

 

“So why do you think you might have killed him?”

 

“I didn’t know if I could make the Hoop work. I didn’t know if I could get him out. I didn’t know if I was willing to risk my own life to save a man I’d spent years hating. I didn’t know if he was worth the danger I’d be putting myself in.”

 

“You still wouldn’t have killed him. I know this, Draco.”

 

“How?”

 

Snape took a sip of whisky, then steepled his fingers under his chin. “There are two reasons. One, you knew very well that if you did, you’d be tortured and killed for it. The Dark Lord had ordered Potter be kept alive, and if you’d broken that order, it would have ended very badly for you.”

 

“Yes, I thought of that when I was thinking of trying to rescue him. What would happen to me if I was caught.”

 

“If he had asked you to kill him, and you’d considered it, that thought would have occurred to you again, and your need to keep yourself alive would have prevented you from doing as he asked.”

 

“That makes me sound so…unfeeling. I don’t like to think of myself as that cold. But I know I was then.”

 

“You had to be,” Snape said firmly, his tone making it clear he’d brook no disagreement. “You are also human. There are very few people in this world who are able to sacrifice themselves for another. People profess to it often, saying they love someone so much, they’d die for them. It’s bullshit.” Draco mentally raised his brows; he’d never heard Snape curse before. “Very, very few actually would, even for someone they loved. You didn’t love Potter. You may have felt pity for him, but you would not have sacrificed yourself for him, nor should you have. I think Potter would agree with me.”

 

Draco nodded. “He would. And as much as I don’t like to admit it, you’re right, too. I wouldn’t have risked my own death by killing him.” He paused. “You said there were two reasons I wouldn’t have done it. What is the second?”

 

“You are not a killer. Yes, you have done so, but it is against your nature. You are not your father. You may look like him, and you may have once aspired to be like him, but you are more like your mother in nature. Even if you could have figured out a way to make it look as though Potter had simply died from too much abuse, you could not have done it.”

 

Draco was silent for a long time. He finally sat down and stared into his unfinished drink. He took a sip, then another.

 

“I can only hope you are right,” he said eventually.

 

“If you are honest with yourself, you know what I have said is true. You know very well I am the least likely person in the world to say something simply to try and make you feel better.” Snape sneered lightly on the last two words.

 

Draco huffed out a laugh. “That is true. It is one of the reasons I respect you, and one of the reasons I came here tonight.”

 

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I respect you as well. I will confess I do not understand your relationship with Potter. It is beyond my comprehension. But that is your business. When you talk to Potter about this, and I know you will, I recommend you be honest with him.”

 

“I will be. Harry has great respect for honesty.”

 

Snape had never viewed Potter as the honest sort but held his tongue. “Is your mind more at ease?”

 

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

“It is the least I could do. You were put in a terrible position I understand all too well. I did not wish for you to become a spy like me, but I was pragmatic enough to know you could be useful. And you were. Had you done nothing more than save Potter, your time as a spy would have been worth it, but you did more than that. Remember that.”

 

“I will.” Snape’s words made Draco realise that saving Harry had made everything he had done as a spy, all the time he’d been stuck with the Death Eaters, worthwhile. He’d never thought of it that way. If he hadn’t been there, Harry would probably be dead, and he would have never found what he had now with Harry. He would have missed out on the most important relationship in his life.

 

Draco finished off the rest of his drink. “I have taken enough of your time. I should be going.”

 

“It is almost three o’clock in the morning. You should stay at Hogwarts. Give yourself a little time before you have to go deal with Potter.”

 

Draco considered this. He didn’t know if he was ready to talk about all this with Harry; his emotions were still rather churned up, and he was exhausted. It was selfish, but he did want to take that time.

 

“I should at least let him know where I am. That I’m safe. I left rather abruptly, without telling him where I was going. May I use your Floo?”

 

“Of course.” Snape motioned to the box of Floo power on the fireplace mantle.

 

Draco threw in the powder and shouted out “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place” after sticking his head in the green flames.

 

He didn’t have to wait for anyone to respond—Harry was dropping to the floor on his knees instantly.

 

“Oh, God. You’re all right. You’re all right, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, I’m all right. I’m at Hogwarts. I’ll be back in the morning.”

 

“Draco, I’m so sorry—”

 

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

 

Harry’s face fell. “Won’t you come home now?”

 

Draco shook his head. “No. I need some time. I just wanted to let you know I was safe. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Draco—” Harry cut himself off. He knew talking through the Floo wasn’t the way to have the conversation they needed to have. “I love you.”

 

Draco smiled a little. “I love you too. That hasn’t changed.”

 

Draco could see the relief on Harry’s face and regretted causing him to doubt, even for a short time, that he cared for him. “Good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

Harry sat back on his heels and watched the flames return to normal after Draco was gone. He closed his eyes and let loose a long, windy sigh. Draco was safe. He was fine. He seemed much calmer. That was all good. He wished Draco was back home, so he could hold him in his arms, but just knowing Draco was safe was a huge relief.

 

He pushed himself up, and his head spun a little. He wasn’t sure if it was from relief or the Firewhisky he’d consumed. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d had enough to feel it.

 

He wearily climbed the stairs and knocked on Remus’ door. He told him Draco had contacted him, and Remus seemed very relieved as well. Harry bid him good night and went down to his bedroom.

 

He lay down on the bed. He was almost afraid to try and sleep. He didn’t know what his subconscious would dredge up after all that had been said and all he’d been thinking about since Draco had left. But the combination of alcohol, relief, and simple emotional exhaustion had him falling asleep rather quickly. And his mind was blessedly quiet.

 

 

**************************************************************

 

When Draco appeared in the Floo the next morning, Harry was so happy to see him all he wanted to do was kiss him senseless. But he could see Draco wasn’t ready for that.

 

Remus stood up. “I’m glad you’re all right, Draco. I’ll give you some privacy.”

 

“I’m sorry if I caused any concern. But you needn’t leave. Finish your breakfast. Harry and I can go upstairs.”

 

Harry nodded. “Do you want anything? Tea?”

 

“Tea would be nice.”

 

Harry grabbed the tea things and threw them on a tray in record time.

 

They walked upstairs in silence that wasn’t as much uncomfortable as it was nerve-wracking—at least it was for Harry. He couldn’t begin to predict how their conversation would go and that had him a little jittery. When they reached their room, he automatically applied the privacy spells after setting the tea tray on a table. Then he stood and just looked at Draco, his expression one of great regret that was underscored by the shadowy purple under his eyes. Draco suspected he had circles of his own.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

Draco shook his head. He walked to Harry and slid a hand into his hair, drawing him into a kiss. He needed this and thought Harry probably did, too.

 

Clutching the pyjama top Draco still wore, Harry kissed him like he was a drowning man, and Draco was the air he needed to live. When they finally broke apart, Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s. “I’m sorry, too.”

 

Draco stepped away and moved to the little sitting area in front of the fireplace he and Harry had recently added to the room. Harry joined him, sitting in a chair across from the settee Draco chose. Draco poured tea and fixed the cups as he gathered his thoughts.

 

“I know I worried you last night, leaving the way I did, and I’m sorry for that. I just…I just couldn’t be here then. I needed to get away. I needed some space.”

 

“I understand that. I understand the need for space, for time. You did worry me, but I appreciate that you did Floo last night. It relieved me, even if you wouldn’t—weren’t ready to—come home.”

 

“Do you know I actually think of this as home now?” Draco commented, tilting his head thoughtfully. “It’s as much home to me as Malfoy Manor. In many ways it’s more—the main reason being because you’re here.”

 

Harry’s lips curved in a smile. “I never thought I’d call Grimmauld Place home either. This house held too many sad memories for me. But having you here has made it home for me as well.

 

“Draco, I never should have told you what I did last night. I never intended to. I was angry, I was upset, and it just sort of came out. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know I upset you, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

 

“I know you were upset. You had a right to be upset, and you certainly have a right to be angry. But when you said that about almost asking me to kill you…” He shook his head and lifted his hands helplessly. “I can’t explain how much it terrified me. As you know, it literally made me sick to think I could have killed you. I love you. I would have killed the man I love had I done it.”

 

“You didn’t love me then.”

 

“I know that. But I do now, and it’s difficult for me to separate that out.” He paused and then said, “I went to Hogwarts last night. I talked to Snape.”

 

Harry’s first thought was ‘Snape? He went to _Snape?_ ’ but on the heels of that thought was the knowledge that if anyone could understand what it had been like for Draco as a spy, it was Snape.

 

“Did it help?”

 

“It did, yes. He doesn’t understand us, but he can understand my experiences. I told him what you’d said. I told him that if you’d asked…I knew I would have considered it. And I was horribly afraid I could have actually done it.”

 

“I don’t think you could have. I don’t think you’re that kind of person, Draco.”

 

Draco smiled a little. “Snape told me the same thing last night. He said I wasn’t a killer like my father.”

 

“You’re not, no. Perhaps I somehow knew that even then. I don’t know. I realised last night that if I had asked, I would have been asking you to risk your own life. I know Voldemort would have killed you if he’d found out what you’d done. I wasn’t doing much logical thinking back then, and even if it had occurred to me…I’m ashamed to say it wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t care about much of anything except myself then.”

 

Draco looked at Harry and spoke with as much sincerity as he could convey. “You’re wrong. You’re so very wrong. You cared about the wizarding world. You didn’t tell him the prophecy. You had to have known if you did, he would have killed you. You said you wanted death, and you could have gotten it that way. But you didn’t.”

 

“No, I didn’t. I might have, if it had gone on much longer, if you hadn’t gotten me out of there. I don’t know. Or I might have just simply died. McGonagall told me I was almost dead when you brought me to Hogwarts. I know without magic—the magic the Death Eaters used to keep me alive and the magic the Healers used to heal me—I would be dead.”

 

A tidal wave of cold washed through Draco at the thought of Harry being dead. He ruthlessly pushed it aside. He wasn’t dead. He’d survived.

 

Draco sipped at his tea to wet his throat and said slowly, “The idea that I might have actually killed you…that I might have taken away what we have now without even knowing it…it’s difficult for me to explain how that made me feel last night. How it still makes me feel. But after talking to Snape last night, and after thinking about it a lot after we talked, I realised he was right. I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it even if I told myself I was going to do it out of mercy. I…I pictured myself raising my wand to you, not to torture you, but to use the Killing Curse. Just picturing it in my head had such feelings of—“ He broke off and was unable to withhold a shudder. “I can’t describe it. There are no words for how that mental image made me feel. But I knew then, I know now, I would have never been able to go through with it.”

 

“I hope that makes you feel better.”

 

“It does, in a way. It still bothers me that I would have considered it.”

 

“If I had asked, and you had considered it, you would have done so because you knew what I was going through, and I think you would have thought you’d be doing an act of mercy.”

 

“Yes, that’s why I would have considered it, but…” Draco hesitated, then went ahead and said it, “…my reasons for considering it wouldn’t have been completely altruistic.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I would have been thinking about myself. If we’re being honest here, I have to tell you I would have been putting my own needs ahead of yours. I told you before I couldn’t stand to torture you again. If you had asked, I would have considered it a way to help myself as much as, if not more than, a way to help you.”

 

Harry studied Draco for a moment. “You think I don’t understand that. I do. And I don’t blame you for that. Had our situations been reversed, I likely would have felt the same way. Even though I didn’t like you at the time, it would have been very difficult for me to torture you if I had been the spy. But I think I probably would have done it, just as you did. And if I had seen a way out of having to torture you again, a way that would have made my life easier, I would have been thinking of my own needs.”

 

Draco didn’t know if that was true. Harry may think he would have put himself first, but Draco didn’t know if he actually would have. Harry was one of those people who Snape talked about that actually _would_ sacrifice himself for someone else. Perhaps it was a trait he’d inherited from his mother—if that kind of thing could be inherited. Then again, he also knew that had their situations been reversed, and Draco had asked Harry to kill him, there was no way in a million years Harry would have been able to do it. If Draco didn’t have it in him to do it, Harry certainly didn’t.

 

“I feel as though I need to apologise for the fact that I know I would have considered killing you if you had asked me.”

 

“You don’t need to apologise for that. If I had asked you, it would have been me putting you in the position of it even crossing your mind. But you have to remember, Draco, there’s a reason I never asked you, and it’s not because I thought you were like your father or your aunt or any of the other Death Eaters. I knew, perhaps not consciously, but I knew you weren’t the same as them. You tortured me, yes, but never voluntarily. You gave me water. That sounds like such a simple thing, but at that time, in that situation, it was a monumental kindness. I don’t think I was thinking rationally most of the time I was captive, but I still knew you weren’t like the others. Perhaps it was instinctive, but I knew you wouldn’t kill me no matter how much I begged you.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“I know I am. Believe me on that. I wanted to die, and if I had thought you would actually do it, I would have asked. But I didn’t.”

 

After a moment of contemplative silence, Draco admitted, “I don’t know how to feel right now. There are too many emotions inside me. I’m not used to feeling so much, to being so confused by my feelings. I don’t like it. I don’t know how to handle it.”

 

Harry got up and moved to sit by Draco on the couch. He rested his hand on Draco’s knee and said earnestly, “Let me give you an outlet. Let me do for you what you’ve done for me. Let me show you how much I love you.”

 

“You’re the one who suffered a flashback. I should be taking care of you. It’s what you need that’s most important, not me.” In the back of his mind, Draco marvelled that he could make such an unselfish statement and mean it; a few months ago, he would have never put someone else’s comfort ahead of his own. It was difficult to comprehend how much falling in love with Harry Potter had changed him.

 

“Then be with me. We’ll give each other what we need.”

Harry leaned in and kissed Draco softly. When Draco didn’t resist or protest, he deepened it just a little and felt Draco’s lips part under his, welcoming him. Still kissing him, Harry pulled Draco to his feet and began walking them to the bed.

 

It was soft and slow, gentle and unhurried. Skin was sensitised by stroking fingers, need was aroused by lips and tongues. The only words spoken were ones of love. When they joined, they both sighed, each feeling that their world had righted itself once more. Their kiss was passionate as they took themselves higher and higher, and the lights inside them both flared brighter as they soared up and over before tumbling into bliss together.

 


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven

 

 

Harry and Draco didn’t go to Hogwarts that day. Harry was emotionally exhausted and didn’t think he’d be at his best, which he certainly needed to be if Dumbledore was going to test him. When Harry Flooed him, Dumbledore didn’t ask why he wanted to put it off until the next day; he simply said he’d see them tomorrow morning. He wondered if he knew Draco had been at Hogwarts and figured he probably did. He doubted anything happened at Hogwarts that Dumbledore wasn’t aware of. Harry felt a little worm of guilt, knowing they needed to get things into motion for setting the trap, but he just couldn’t work up the energy to put on a happy face and try to do whatever unfamiliar—and probably very challenging—magic Dumbledore might ask him to do.

 

After lunch, he tried to read in the library while Draco worked on the Apparition Hoops but wound up falling asleep on the sofa. He was surprised when he woke to discover it was almost time for tea. He felt a little better after getting some rest and went down to the kitchen to start cooking.

 

He found Remus there pulling some things out of the cold box.

 

“It’s my turn to cook tonight.”

 

“You were asleep, and I knew you needed the rest. I don’t mind taking a turn tonight.”

 

Harry rubbed at his cheek, where he knew he probably had sleep creases. “Why don’t I help you? I feel the need to do something after being so lazy all day.”

 

“All right.”

 

They put together some chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. Remus asked Harry if things were ok with Draco, and Harry told him they’d talked and things were better. Harry tossed a salad, and by the time the food was ready, Draco had shown up.

 

They talked of inconsequential things over dinner, and out of unspoken agreement, the war wasn’t mentioned, nor was the incident the night before. It was pleasant to take a night off from serious topics.

 

Draco went back up after dinner to complete the final stage of his Hoops. Harry and Remus lounged around in the drawing room listening to a Quidditch match on the WWN until it was time for bed.

 

“Let’s go up on the roof,” Harry suggested when Draco came into the bedroom later.

 

“The roof?”

 

“Yeah, it’s a nice night, not too cold. It was nice being up there the other day. I’d like to get some fresh air.”

 

“All right. The roof it is.”

 

They took some blankets and lay down on their backs to look at the stars that were still beautiful despite being dimmed by the lights of London. Eventually, Harry rolled on top of Draco and started snogging him. Hands started to roam, and when Harry scraped his nails lightly down Draco’s side, Draco jumped a little. Suddenly reminded of how ticklish Draco was, the idea of having a little fun popped into Harry’s brain, and he ran with it. After the past couple of days, a little laughter would be a very good thing.

 

He unbuckled Draco’s belt and slid his trousers and boxers off, testing the sharp edges of Draco’s hipbones with the pads of his thumbs. Then he helped Draco out of his shirt and trailed his fingers down his chest. He leaned down as if to kiss Draco—but then started tickling him.

 

Draco burst into laughter immediately. He squirmed and tried to push Harry’s hands away, but Harry’s hands were nimble, and he just kept finding new places to torment. Desperate to end the breath-stealing torture, he tried pushing Harry bodily off of him, but Harry wouldn’t be budged from where he sat straddling Draco’s hips.

 

“Stop,” Draco gasped between bouts of laughter. “Stop, stop, stop!”

 

Harry grinned down at his wriggling boyfriend. He loved seeing Draco laugh this way.

 

“Say uncle,” Harry sing-songed when he saw the tears of mirth beading at the corners of Draco’s eyes.

 

“Uncle!” Draco shouted. “Uncle! Uncle!”

 

Harry stopped the tickling, and Draco’s body sagged in relief underneath him as he worked to catch his breath. Harry couldn’t keep the huge smile off his face, even as Draco gave him the evil eye.

 

“You’re going to pay for that, Potter.”

 

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Harry said, pretending to shiver. He rolled to his side, lubed his fingers, and began to slowly stroke Draco’s cock.

 

Draco gaped at him. “If you think you’re getting sex now, you’re sadly mistaken.”

 

“Oh I am, am I?” Harry grinned wickedly and slid his hand behind Draco’s balls and abruptly pushed two fingers inside him. Draco groaned and his head fell back against the roof. Harry swirled his tongue around Draco’s dick before sucking it into this mouth.

 

“You know you’re a fucking bastard, Harry Potter,” Draco said, even as he pulled his legs back to give Harry more room to work him with his fingers.

 

Harry chuckled around his mouthful causing Draco to shudder. He moved down to take Draco’s balls in his mouth and continued pumping the two fingers in and out of Draco’s hole. Then he removed his fingers and wandlessly cast the cleansing charm. He pushed Draco’s legs back farther and took his tongue on a leisurely journey of Draco’s arse, finally swiping his tongue over his entrance and making Draco groan loudly.

 

Harry held Draco’s cheeks apart and went to work sucking and licking his hole. He ran his tongue around the rim, and Draco began a litany of encouraging words interspersed with curses that urged him on. He pointed his tongue and worked it inside. As Harry tongue-fucked him, Draco moaned and gasped his name.

 

He knew Draco was enjoying the hell out of the rim job, so kept at it awhile longer. When his tongue got tired, he pushed himself up and braced himself over Draco. He pushed himself inside Draco in one hard thrust, and Draco bowed up and cried out.

 

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” Draco wrapped his legs around Harry and urged him to move. Harry began thrusting hard, and Draco’s pleas for more had him moving faster. He leaned down to lick and bite at the tendon of Draco’s shoulder, and Draco jerked and cried out again. Draco yanked Harry’s face to his and kissed him hard and passionately. The kiss was raw and full of unrestrained need.

 

“Harry,” he gasped. “I want…I want you to…” His eyes met Harry’s for a moment before they skittered away, and he kissed Harry again, just a bit desperately.

 

Harry suddenly understood what Draco wanted, but was too shy to ask for. He ran his hand over Draco’s arse teasingly in slow circles. “Is this what you want?” he whispered in Draco’s ear.

 

Draco kept his eyes closed but nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

 

Harry gave Draco a couple of hard thrusts then gave his arse a light smack. Draco groaned and arched his neck back. “More.”

 

Harry gave him another slap on the same side, a little harder this time and watched as Draco’s cock leaked pre-come. He might not want to admit it, but getting spanked a little really made Draco hot. He thrust hard and deep into Draco arse, riding him harder.

 

Draco began stroking his cock. “Again,” he mumbled, as if still embarrassed that he wanted this. “A few more times. Then fuck me hard. I want to come with you fucking me hard.”

 

Harry immediately gave Draco’s other cheek a smack and watched as the skin turned pink. God, he got hot doing this. Who would have guessed? He switched to the other cheek and spanked Draco a bit harder twice in rapid succession. Draco cried out and pulled harder at his cock. Harry delivered one more stinging slap to Draco’s other cheek before driving into him hard and fast. He pushed Draco’s knees back as far as they would go and gave it to him.

 

The anticipation of what was to come when Harry had simply rubbed his arse had sent a wave of heat rushing through Draco. He was embarrassed and was glad Harry had understood what he wanted without having to ask for it directly, but when his hand had connected in that first light slap…Draco knew it was worth a little embarrassment. And those last three—they’d been a little harder, and they’d stung, and the heat that had rolled though him had been incredible.

 

Now Draco felt like Harry might drill right through him, he was pushing in so hard and deep. Draco’s hand worked frantically on his dick while the other fisted in the blanket beneath him. When he came, the first gout shot in an arc over his shoulder.

 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh yes, yes, Harry, yes!” he cried out. When Harry’s hand connected with his arse one last time, he thought he might die from the pleasure. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he gasped for breath as the orgasm continued to spread pulses of heat throughout his body.

 

The sight of Draco coming apart beneath him made Harry desperate to come as well. He gave Draco’s pink arse a few more deep, hard thrusts before he finally felt the pleasure spread out from his groin and he came, holding himself up against Draco’s shaking legs.

 

When he came back to himself, he let his hands slip down Draco’s legs, and they unbent to flop weakly to the blanket. He caught himself on his hands before he fell flat on top of Draco and half-fell, half-rolled onto his side beside him. Draco was lying with one arm over his eyes while the other rested on his belly. 

 

“Holy shit,” Harry sighed, completely sated. “That was…that was…”

 

“Fucking fantastic,” Draco finished for him, his voice sleepy and satisfied. “I now understand why you like being taken so hard sometimes. There is something to be said for being pounded into the, uh, well…roof.” He laughed a little.

 

“Do you think the fact that no one can see this building also means no one can hear us?” Harry wondered.

 

“Oh, shite,” Draco said. “I never thought about that. Wait a minute. We’re not right above Lupin’s room are we?”

 

“I think we are, actually,” Harry said on a yawn, completely unconcerned. He was too satisfied to be concerned.

 

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Draco shot up into a sitting position. “Do you think he heard us? Oh, gods, I’ll never be able to look him in the face again.”

 

Harry pulled Draco back down and rolled on top of him. “He knows we have sex.”

 

“Knowing people have sex is not the same as being forced to listen to them having sex right above your head,” Draco retorted, glaring at Harry.

 

Harry just kissed him. “I love you. Even your sense of propriety.” He kissed him again, then again until they were snogging lazily.

 

“Mmm…” Harry sighed. “That really was good sex, wasn’t it? I could fall asleep right here.”

 

“We’re going to freeze. The last warming charm wore off ages ago.”

 

“We made our own heat. Cast another one if you’re cold,” Harry said complacently.

 

“Can we please get up and go to bed?”

 

“All right,” Harry groused, pulling himself up and off of Draco. “We should get one of those wizarding tents and camp out up here.”

 

“Whatever for when we have perfectly good rooms right below us?”

 

“You know you had fun doing it outside.”

 

“Well, yes, I did, but…”

 

“It was very sexy it to do it under the stars,” Harry said, grabbing Draco to pull him against him for a kiss when Draco would have bent down to pick up his trousers. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”

 

“Only if no one is sleeping right below us,” Draco said.

 

“If you insist,” Harry said, grinning. He let go of Draco and grabbed his own clothes and bundled them into his arms with the blankets. “Let’s go.”

“You—you’re going to walk off this roof naked?” Draco asked, stunned.

 

“No point in putting on clothes to take them off again in two minutes,” Harry said reasonably.

 

“I’m not walking into the house and down the stairs past Lupin’s room starkers,” Draco said firmly. “And since you’ll be walking with me, neither are you.”

 

“Fine,” Harry said, dropping the blankets and starting to get dressed. He’d never say so, but Draco’s modesty and sense of the proper rules of behaviour really amused him sometimes.

 

They went back down to their room without being caught (Harry had been tempted to start whistling when they’d passed Remus’ door but had decided Draco might punish him by withholding sex later). Curled in bed, Draco asked, “Ready for tomorrow?”

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

“It will all be fine. Good night.”

 

“Good night, love.”

 

 

**********************************************************************************

 

 

Since Draco had proved himself capable of long-distance Apparition by going to Hogwarts from London the other night, Harry and Draco Apparated there a little before eight in the morning. Harry was a bit nervous, but he felt full of energy. A little rest and good sex could do wonders for a person.

 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Dumbledore greeted them at the gate. “I hope you’re well today.”

 

“Very well,” Harry said. “And yourself?”

 

“Fit as a fiddle, as they say. We’ll be doing this outside. I thought perhaps in the west courtyard.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure he knew which one was the west courtyard, but he and Draco followed Dumbledore around the side of the castle to a small garden-like area Harry remembered seeing before.

 

“I shall be asking you to do a type of magic that is a bit different than what you are used to, Harry. You will not be casting any spells—at least not the way you usually do.”

 

“What am I going to be doing?”

 

“You are going to take the magic within yourself and merge it with the magic that resides everywhere around us. In doing so, the magic at your disposal to use for spell casting will be amplified.” Seeing the look of puzzlement on Harry’s face, Dumbledore smiled. “Let me give you a bit of background. It is said that the ancients, our forefathers, used the magic of nature along with their own magic. Over the millennia, the ability has been lost to most of us. There are still some, however, who can tap into this energy. I believe you are one of them.”

 

“I’m assuming you are as well?”

 

“Yes, I am. Draco, I believe you may have heard of earth magic?”

 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I thought that was something Muggles played at.”

 

“I’m sure they don’t consider it playing, but I believe there are those out there with residual magic—not enough magic to be a true wizard or witch, but a little.”

 

“You’re going to have Harry do something that these Muggles who may or may not have any magic at all do?” Draco asked sceptically. He wanted to sneer, but made himself keep his tone polite.

 

Dumbledore smiled, and Draco suspected he was actually laughing at him. “No, not at all. Harry will be doing something quite different. I only mentioned it as I thought you might be aware of Muggle earth magic, and I didn’t want you to misunderstand.”

 

“I see.” Draco would never understand the workings of the old man’s mind if he lived to be a thousand.

 

“Our magic comes from inside us, whereas some Muggles who profess to be witches believe their magic is tied to the elements. While we respect nature and the elements—or we should—we do not revere it or use it when we cast spells. But what I am going to ask you to do today, Harry, involves the natural world. I am going to ask you to command the elements from within yourself.”

 

Harry looked to Draco for some support in understanding this puzzling explanation but didn’t get any help. “Er, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I really take your meaning.”

 

“It will be easier to show you than to tell you. The element I will command is water.”

 

Harry and Draco watched as Dumbledore closed his eyes and stood silently for some time. Watching him closely, Draco noticed he’d slowed and measured his breathing. He eventually lifted his hands, palms up. His skin seemed to…radiate—it was the only word Draco could think of to describe it. He wasn’t glowing, and there wasn’t a light, but there was a sort of shimmer, something just barely there.

 

Then a gentle rain began to fall.

 

Harry and Draco looked at one another. Harry felt an unsettling chill wash over him, and the shock he felt was mirrored on Draco’s face.

 

‘Holy shit, Dumbledore just made it rain!’ Harry thought. ‘He expects me to do that?’

 

The rain tapered off after a minute, and Dumbledore opened his eyes. For a moment, they were a deep, dark blue. Then they cleared and the usual light, twinkling azure was back.

 

“That was amazing, sir,” Harry breathed. “Absolutely amazing. How did you do that?”

 

“I will teach you.”

 

“I’ve never heard of a wizard being able to control the weather,” Draco said, struggling with everything he’d been taught about such things in the face of such powerful proof against it.

 

“I wasn’t controlling the weather,” Dumbledore corrected him. “I was simply commanding water, and the water I commanded was in the clouds. The water could have been from any source.”

 

Draco didn’t think there was anything “simple” about what Dumbledore had just done, but just nodded.

 

“You want me to do that?” Harry asked doubtfully.

 

“Not necessarily the same thing. You will command an element, but how you command it will likely be different than the way I do. You could bring the rain, but you could also cause the water in the lake to ripple or to even rise and swell into great waves. You could pull it from within the earth. It depends on you and how your magic merges with that of the magic around us.”

 

“You seemed to be…I don’t know. Working yourself up to it?” Harry asked uncertainly.

 

“As you are new to this, I will guide you through it. It is a type of meditation, one I believe will come more easily to you as an Occlumens. I will talk you through both taking command and letting go.”

 

Harry felt a little anxious, but the idea of a challenge appealed to him, so he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “All right then. What do I need to do?”

 

“The purpose of merging your own magic with that of an element is to increase your own innate power. First you must learn to command your chosen element. You will be commanding an element by using your own magic. You need to let your magic combine with the magic of the element.

 

“The first element you will command is air. Think of air as you prepare yourself. Imagine magic within the air. Imagine the magic within yourself. Then mate them,” Dumbledore instructed, interlacing his fingers in demonstration.“When the two sources of magic are fully merged, you will be able to command air. You will be able to cause the air to do as you wish.

 

“When you cast a spell, you command the magic within you; now you are adding to what you have naturally and commanding all of it. Do not think of it as two separate sources of magic—think of it as one large pool from which you can pull.”

 

Dumbledore regarded Harry very seriously. “Keep in mind that by commanding an element, you may be doubling the magic you already possess—in time, as you become more skilled, it may be trebled. It is therefore essential that you not only command the air, but you _control_ it. Think about when you do a spell—you are using control to command what is inside you to make something specific happen. It is very important you maintain control.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. There had been times in the past when he’d let his emotions get the better of him, and he hadn’t completely controlled his magic. What if something like that happened when he tried to command an element? He remembered Dumbledore mentioning causing waves to form on the lake—what if he caused some sort of flood?

 

“Wow. Ok. I hope I can do this. How will I know when my magic has merged with the air’s magic so that I can command it?”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled serenely. “You will simply know.”

 

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. He hated those kinds of non-answers.

 

He’d simply know? The answer didn’t make Harry feel any more confident in his ability to do this new sort of magic. But Dumbledore thought he could do this, so he’d give it his best shot.

 

“When you no longer need the element’s magic, you will need to separate your magic, bring it back into yourself. Whatever you have caused the air to do, you will end it as you end the merge. Follow your instincts on this, Harry; do not overthink it.”

 

Well, at least following his instincts was something Harry had a lot of experience doing. “Follow my instincts. I can do that. I hope,” Harry said, with a self-deprecating smile.

 

“Let us see what you can do. If you are ready, I will walk you through the meditation.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and blew it out, rolling his shoulders as he did so. “I’m ready.”

 

“Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Let it empty.” Dumbledore spoke slowly and precisely, and he paused a moment to allow Harry time to follow his instructions. “There is nothing but air. You are breathing it. You are taking deep, slow breaths of it. You are surrounded by nothing but air. You feel nothing but air. You are floating, gently floating, and there is nothing but air. You are the air. Feel it inside you. Feel it around you.”

 

Dumbledore’s voice had become a soft, sing-songing lilt. Draco could see Harry relax as he stood there with his eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly, just as Dumbledore had said to do.

 

Dumbledore continued telling Harry to be the air, feel the air, exist as the air for a few minutes more. Then he said, “Feel your magic. Feel it rise slowly within you. Feel the magic in the air. Let your magic be the air. You are the air. Be the air. Command the air; command what you are. You are the air. Command what is inside of you. Command the air.”

 

Harry stood quietly, and Draco could almost feel his concentration. After a couple of minutes, he shook his head and opened his eyes.

 

“I couldn’t quite do it. I felt…something. Something different from my own magic, although I could never describe how magic feels. It was like…something touched me. Then I tried to reach for it in my mind, and it was gone.”

 

“It was a good first attempt. Do not be discouraged. I know of no wizard who has done it successfully on the first try. You said you reached for it with your mind. Try reaching for it with your magic.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to that. He commanded his magic with his mind, didn’t he?But he simply said, “All right.”

 

“Very good. Are you ready to try again?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

Dumbledore walked Harry through an almost identical meditation, and Draco watched Harry relax again.

 

After Dumbledore again told Harry to be the air, command the air, and command what he was, Harry stood silent and still for a few minutes. Draco wondered if anything was going to happen this time. Then Harry inhaled deeply. He held the breath for just a moment then blew it out.

 

A light wind rose where there had been none and stirred the air around them. A gentle breeze swept over them, rustling the branches on the bushes and ruffling his hair. Dumbledore’s robes flapped a little. Draco felt the prickling chill of gooseflesh rise on his arms—Harry had done that.

 

“Command the air,” Dumbledore said, still in that measured, quiet tone. “Command what you are. Be the air. Still the air. Be still. Calm the air. Be calm. Be the air. Command the air.”

 

After a moment, Harry sighed and the wind dropped away. The air just…stilled.

 

Draco stood staring in amazement at Harry. He’d said no spell; he’s used no wand. But this was not wandless magic. This was…more.

 

“Let go of the air,” Dumbledore continued. “Hold on to your magic. Feel it within you, only within you. Let go of the air.”

 

It took a minute, but finally Harry slowly opened his eyes. They were deep and dark, and he seemed a million miles away. Then his eyes cleared, and he blinked.

 

“I…” He shook his head and tried again. His breath shuddered as he blew it out. “I don’t know what to…that felt like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

 

“What did it feel like?” Draco asked. His couldn’t keep the obvious curiosity out of his voice.

 

“It felt…it felt like I was air.” His laugh was one of disbelief. “I was here, but I was…everywhere. I was moving and sort of gliding and I had no substance. I was breathing myself.” Harry shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it felt like.” He looked at Dumbledore. “How could I have become the air?”

 

“You didn’t actually become the air—well, at least not your physical self. It was your magic, Harry. Your magic became the air, mixed with the air, absorbed the air, and then moved the air. The magic in the air around us became your magic, became one with the magic inside you. Your magic became the air and thus you were able to command it, just as you always command your magic.”

 

“How did you know what to do? I mean, you just blew out your breath…and there was wind,” Draco said, awe lacing his tone.

 

“Is that what I did?” Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wasn’t aware of doing that. I just…I just moved. I can’t say I thought it, I just…I guess my magic moved. I moved with it.” He let out a little laugh tinged with the incredulity he felt. “I have no idea how to explain what just happened.”

 

“If I hadn’t seen it, felt it, myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’ve never heard of what you just did as even being possible,” Draco said. “It was incredible.”

 

“It was,” Dumbledore agreed, obviously pleased with Harry. “Tell me how you feel now, Harry. Do you feel weakened at all?”

 

“No, just the opposite. I feel…alert. Completely clear-headed. I feel a kind of…hum in my blood, if that makes sense.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “I know what you mean. Let us try air one more time. Are you ready?”

 

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore repeated the process, walking Harry through the meditation. When Harry brought the wind, it was a little stronger this time. It was just as astounding to see Harry do it the second time as it had been the first.

 

Dumbledore’s smile was bright. “That was excellent. Would you like to try another element? You did very well with air; I think you are capable of moving on to the next.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said eagerly. The feeling that wove through him as he commanded the air awoke something within him and made him feel alive in a way he had never experienced. “Which one?”

 

“Let’s see how you do with earth. Close your eyes again. Clear your mind. Let it empty. Think of what the earth means to you, your own interpretation of it. Visualise it. See it. Feel it. Smell it.”

 

Dumbledore walked Harry through the meditation, eventually telling him to be the earth, command the earth, and to command what he was. Draco wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of that radiance he’d seen on Dumbledore on Harry’s arms where his sleeves were rolled up. Draco waited with bated breath to see what Harry would do.

 

Harry stayed completely still, but the branches on the dormant rose bushes did not. They trembled a little. Draco watched, flabbergasted, as buds formed and greened. Then they slowly opened, the soft red petals unfurling gracefully until the roses were in full bloom. He was startled when one of the blooms broke away and floated in the air. It held there for a moment, just floating, then circled and dipped and meandered its way over to Draco. He reached out to take it. It was warm in his hand.

 

The way Dumbledore’s eyes widened and then the way he smiled in apparent satisfaction didn’t escape Draco’s notice.

 

“You are the earth. Command what you are,” Dumbledore said and walked Harry back down. The roses closed a little, but they didn’t die. Draco lifted the rose he held to his nose; the perfume was sweet.

 

It seemed to Draco that Harry’s eyes stayed that deep dark for a little longer this time. When they cleared, he looked at Draco with an enormous smile on his face. It lightened something inside Draco to see it.

 

“That was…wonderful. Beautiful,” Harry whispered.

 

“You’ve impressed me, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I knew you could do it. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to do it so quickly, but I knew you had what it took to do both.”

 

“Do both?” Harry asked. “Both air and earth?”

 

“No. Harry, you commanded the earth when it became one with your magic. But you did more than that. You performed magic while you were still commanding the element.”

 

“How did I do that?” Harry asked, confused. “I thought all of what I was doing was magic.”

 

“You gave me the rose,” Draco said softly as he understood what Dumbledore meant.

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Exactly. Your magic became one with the magic of the earth, and you commanded it. You made the roses grow and bloom. But then you took that one rose and gave it to Draco. That was a separate magic, Harry. That was purely your magic. You did a spell—you may not have been aware of doing it, but somewhere in your mind you used a spell to give that rose to Draco.”

 

“I suppose I did,” Harry said thoughtfully, beetling his brows. “It was like with the air—I really felt like I was the earth, that I could grow, that there were things within me, lying dormant, waiting to grow. So I grew. Or my magic that was mixed with the earth’s magic did or however it works. I can’t separate it out.”

 

“Did you know you were sending that rose floating over to me?” Draco asked.

 

“I…I did and I didn’t. I didn’t consciously plan to do it or think to do it. And I didn’t cast a spell, not consciously. But I knew it was happening. I knew it had been done. I knew what I was had done it.”

 

“It is an interesting sensation, is it not?” Dumbledore asked. “I find it difficult to describe as well. As you become more proficient, you will learn to consciously cast spells while holding on to the magic of the element.”

 

“Can I do another?”

 

Dumbledore regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment before seeming to come to some sort of decision. “Yes, you seem to feel up to it.”

 

“I feel fantastic. Renewed,” Harry said exuberantly.

 

“Then let us try water. I caution you, do not put in your mind that you must call the rain as I did. Do as you have done with air and earth and allow your magic to command water. If you are able, try to do as you did just now when you gave the rose to Draco and perform an action using magic.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Clear your mind. Think of water. Think of cool, clear water. Think of how it feels on your skin on a hot day. Think of how it feels as you drink it. Think of how it tastes. Be one with the water. Feel it around you. Feel it in you. Your body is mostly water—let it fully become water. Be the water. Feel it. Move with it. Flow with it. Be the water, and let the water be you.”

 

Dumbledore’s voice was soft and slow, flowing gently like the water he was describing, and Draco felt himself becoming almost mesmerised. “Command what you are. Command the water. Be the water. Feel your magic as the water. Let your magic be the water. You are the water. Be the water. Command the water. Command what you are. Command the water.”

 

It happened quickly this time. Tears began to roll down Harry’s face. He caught them in his hands, and the tears became a steady stream of water that poured out of his hands onto the ground. After the water had flown freely for a few moments, Harry lifted his hands into the air and tossed the water high. It burst into sparkling droplets. The droplets began to dance in an invisible breeze, twisting and soaring and dipping. Then Harry lowered his hands, and the water fell to the earth.

 

Draco had definitely seen the radiance along Harry’s skin this time. It looked just as Dumbledore’s had—not a glow, not a light, just…something that shimmered and skimmed and shone a little. He expected the deepness of Harry’s eyes when they opened this time.

 

When his eyes cleared, Harry laughed like a delighted child. He couldn’t describe how it felt—he felt light and free and warm and cool and joyful, all at once. He loved it.

 

“I did the magic, didn’t I?” he asked, smiling brilliantly. “The water danced, didn’t it?”

 

“It did,” Draco confirmed, unable to keep from smiling back at Harry; his joy was contagious. “It was so pretty, so…happy.”

 

Then Draco realised something. He turned to Dumbledore. “You didn’t take him back down this time.”

 

“I didn’t need to. The more he practices, the better his command. You are progressing very quickly, Harry. Very quickly. Your power is very near the surface. Most wizards with power such as yours have it locked deep within them, and it usually has to be coaxed out gradually. Yours appears to be readily accessible to you.”

 

Harry looked at Draco. “Draco taught me how to call on my power, to harness it. We’ve been working on it for several weeks.”

 

“Ah, that answers several questions. Tell me, Draco, how did you help Harry tap into his power?”

 

“He told me to focus,” Harry interjected dryly before Draco could respond.

 

Draco laughed. Looking at the Headmaster, he added, “I had him using the Occlumency techniques he uses to clear his mind. And yes, I told him to focus many, many times. I’m not sure what else I specifically did. I told him to feel the magic, to find it within him. I told him to pay attention to how it feels when he uses more power.”

 

“I imagined fire,” Harry confessed.

 

“Fire?” Draco asked. “You never told me about fire.”

 

“It was just what I envisioned when you were telling me to find the magic within me. I imagined a fire burning inside me—a low fire. Then when I needed more power, I envisioned the fire growing larger, shooting flames up higher. I imagined reaching into the fire and pulling out the power.”

 

“Interesting,” Dumbledore said softly, almost to himself. 

 

“Speaking of fire, can I try the last element now?” Harry asked. He was eager to taste the magic of fire; the feeling of commanding each element had felt subtly different for each, and he wanted to see how fire compared to the other elements.

 

“Yes, but of all the elements, fire can be the most dangerous, especially for a wizard just learning to do this as you are. You must be very specific, very controlled in your command of fire, Harry. Do not become lost in the wonder, the joy of it. I know very well that is easy to do.”

 

“Maybe I’m not ready to try fire,” Harry said, suddenly doubtful as he thought about the havoc fire could wreak and how he’d worried about controlling the element’s magic before he’d started with air. His emotions were definitely high and bouncing excitedly throughout his body—perhaps it wasn’t the best time to try something that would require even stricter control. “Maybe I should practice with the other elements some more first.”

 

“If you wish to do that, we can. But I will be honest and say I believe you will do fine. Your command has been very steady, and your ability to cast magic while commanding the element has come to you very quickly, which speaks to your control. It is up to you.”

 

“What if catch something on fire?” Harry looked up at the castle they were standing in the shadow of. Then he looked around at the rose bushes. “There’s a lot of flammable stuff around here.”

 

“We could move to the lake,” Dumbledore suggested. “Water cannot burn.”

 

“All right,” Harry said slowly. “That would make me feel a little better. You’d be ready to put out any fire I made that got out of control, wouldn’t you? Both of you?”

 

“Of course, but I do not think it will come to that. Do you wish to try now or wait? If you wish to wait, it is perfectly fine to do so. Many people who do this practice multiple times with one element before moving on to the next. You’ve done three in one day.”

 

“Do you feel tired? Or drained?” Draco asked. “Or simply uncertain?”

 

“I’m not tired in the slightest. I guess I’m just a little worried about burning something—like one of you.”

 

“There are fire shields,” Dumbledore said.

 

“There are?” Draco asked, his interest immediately piqued. “That’s one I’d like to learn, seeing as how both of us have been burned by fire spells.”

 

“They require more power than the usual _Protego_ spell, but as I know you can both handle it, I shall be glad to teach it to you.”

 

“That would be great,” Harry said, sounding a bit more comfortable. “If I know you’re both able to protect yourselves, and we do this by the lake, I think I’ll be fine trying to command fire.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Dumbledore taught them the spell quickly and efficiently. He tested their abilities with it by using _Incendio_ against them. Draco was glad he and Harry were good at picking up new spells—he’d hate to be having fire spells shot at him if he wasn’t sure he was doing the shield spell right.

 

They moved over to the lake, and Harry was happy the giant squid wasn’t out and about sunning itself or something. He didn’t really care for anything that lived in the lake after his experience during the Triwizard Tournament.

 

“Close your eyes and clear your mind,” Dumbledore started. “Picture fire in your mind. See its colours, see it move. Feel its heat. It burns with no pain, no harm. See the flames grow. See them ebb. Think of what fire means to you, evokes in you. Feel its passion. Envision the fire within yourself. Feel it grow stronger, see the flames leap higher. Feel the fire around you. It burns but causes no pain, no injury, no damage.

 

“Reach into the fire for your magic. Feel your magic burn. Feel the heat rise. Feel the magic in the flames around you. Let your magic be the fire. Be the fire. You are the fire. It is within and without. Command the fire with a firm hand. Command what you are. Command the fire. Command what’s inside you. Be the fire. Command the fire.”

 

Draco followed Dumbledore’s lead and cast the fire shield spell. The radiance danced along Harry’s skin, glinting in the bright sunlight. Draco’s breath caught; it was…otherworldly. When Harry’s eyes opened, the deepness, the darkness was fathomless. Draco didn’t think Harry actually saw anything; his eyes were simply open.

 

A thick column of fire appeared fully formed in Harry’s upturned palm. Its twin rose up in his other hand. He held the dancing, twisting flames steady for almost a minute. Draco thought perhaps he was done and needed Dumbledore to talk him down again. But then Harry moved. He brought his hands so close to one another the flames merged and doubled in height as they combined into one. The fire slowly lifted away from Harry’s palms and began to rise into the air, a perfect, tightly controlled column. When it had risen quite a ways into the air, the column seemed to explode in slow motion. It took Draco a second to see it, but when he did, he gasped. The flames had flowed and twisted into a shape: a dragon.

 

“Command the fire,” Dumbledore said softly but his voice was very firm. “You are the fire. Command what you are. Be the fire. Bank the fire. Be an ember. Be a warm glow. Command the fire. You are the fire. Command what you are.”

 

Draco didn’t think Harry looked any different, but he got the impression bringing himself back from the fire was more difficult than the others had been. The dragon didn’t disappear. It continued to float in the air, burning brightly. Dumbledore kept talking, soothingly, but there was a note of authority in his tone.

 

“Command the fire, Harry. Bring it down, control your command. Bank the fire slowly. Let it die down. Let it be quiet. Let it sleep until another day. It will remain, but it will be still and quiet within you, just a gentle glow. You are the fire, Harry; you must command what you are. Be the fire. Command the fire. Command what you are. Let go of the fire. Bring what is yours back into yourself. Command yourself. Let go of the fire.”

 

Draco let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when the dragon slowly faded away. The last flame winked out of existence. Harry stood as still as a statue, his hands still held palm up in front of him. Then they dropped. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. When his eyes finally opened again, they were back to normal.

 

“Holy—” Draco caught himself before he swore in front of the Headmaster. “Sweet Merlin, Harry. That was…” There were no words, so Draco just let his voice trail away.

 

“Are you all right, Harry?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

 

“Yes, I…I think so,” Harry said, a bit hesitantly. Then a slow smile crept across his face. “That was incredible. It was insane. It was…indescribable.” He looked first at Dumbledore then at Draco. “I was the fire. I was the dragon.”

 

He grinned at Draco. “Did you like the dragon? I became a dragon for you.”

 

“For me?”

 

“Yes, your name—it means dragon. I thought you might like a dragon.”

 

“I did like it. Very much,” Draco assured him, stunned that Harry could think about such things while doing such wondrous and powerful magic. “It was amazing, and it was beautiful. Thank you.”

 

“Was it more difficult for you to control your command?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“Not at first. At first, I—my magic—merged with the magic of the fire just as it had with the other elements. I pictured the same fire I saw inside myself when Draco was teaching me to use more of my power. Then I…I became the fire.” He shrugged as he struggled to put his experience into words that were completely inadequate. “I was the fire. And I was magnificent.” He smiled, an expression of vainglorious pride and awe at himself. “I commanded what I was. I made the columns. Then I became the dragon. Then I…” He trailed off, looking uncertain.

 

“You had a more difficult time separating your magic from the magic of the fire,” Dumbledore said. “Your magic wanted to remain merged. Were you conscious of this?”

 

“In a way,” Harry said slowly. “It wasn’t an active thought, if you understand me. I’m not really aware of thinking during any of this. Some part of me heard you, but I kept burning. It was difficult to…to separate, as you said.” He looked curiously at Dumbledore. “Why? What does that mean?”

 

“It means you have an affinity for the element of fire. I thought you might when you described what you envisioned when Draco was teaching you. It also means you must be especially careful with fire. The beauty and the freedom that comes with merging your magic, with commanding the element, can be a dangerous lure.”

 

“What could happen to him?” Draco asked sharply.

 

“He could become a bit lost and go too far. If that happened, he would likely lose control and then lose command of the element. Although it would not harm him, he could remain in a trance-like state for a while before losing control or finally taking better command and pulling his magic back into himself.”

 

“And if I lost control with fire…”

 

“It could be very dangerous,” Dumbledore finished for Harry. “But, Harry, you must remember: all elements can be dangerous if you lose control. Water could rise into a flood, the earth could move, the wind could become furious gusts. We think of fire as the most dangerous because it will always burn what it touches, but we must not forget that all of Mother Nature has great power.”

 

“I’ll remember,” Harry promised seriously. “And I’ll be careful.”

 

“I will ask you not to practice this without me,” Dumbledore said. “You have very good command, but you are still a beginner. You need someone with you in case you do struggle with the control of the command.” Dumbledore looked at Draco speculatively. “And I think it would be wise if Draco was with you whenever we practiced.”

 

“Why?” Draco asked. “Not that I wouldn’t want to be here, but there’s obviously a specific reason you think I should be.”

 

“You provided a focus for Harry’s magic—Harry’s personal, inner magic that he was using to cast spells while he was merged with the magic of the elements. He gave you the rose; he made a dragon for you. I had already decided I wanted you here when Harry and I cast the protective magic on Hogwarts, to serve as a sort of grounding force for Harry. I think you will do very well in that role.”

 

“A grounding force?”

 

“Yes, a tangible link to the physical to prevent him from falling too deep into the metaphysical. Considering you are two very different people who spent most of your time disliking each other for so many years, the link you have forged between you seems to be very strong. Time is short, and Harry will not have as much experience as I would like before we must cast the protective magic, so I feel your bond will be of benefit to Harry,” Dumbledore explained.

 

“Who would have guessed sharing a bond with Potter would ever be beneficial?” Draco joked, smirking.

 

“Oh, shut it,” Harry groused. Then he looked at Dumbledore. “Er, sorry, sir.”

 

“It’s quite all right. Seeing the two of you together, not as enemies but as friends, gives me great hope for the future.”

 

“If the two of us can become friends, anything is possible?” Draco asked dryly.

 

Dumbledore’s lips twitched. “Indeed. And seeing as you are more than just friends, I would say the possibilities are endless.”

 

Harry looked a little embarrassed, which amused Draco.

 

“What now, sir?” Draco asked. “Does Harry keep practicing this type of magic until he’s ready to do the protective spells?”

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Would you be willing to come back tomorrow afternoon? I have a meeting with the Minister in the morning.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, eagerness plain on his face. “One o’clock?”

 

“That suits. Thank you for your time today, gentlemen.”

 

“No, sir, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said earnestly. “Thank you. Thank you for this…this gift.”

 

“The gift is inside you—I merely helped you open it.”

 

“You did much more than that. Thank you for today, thank you for everything. I look forward to working with you again tomorrow.”

 

“As I do you. Goodbye, gentlemen.” His eyes flicked over each of them. Then he gave them a secretive little smile before turning and walking toward the castle. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

 

“What was that?” Draco demanded when Dumbledore had gone inside. “Did you see his expression just then?”

 

“Yeah, but who knows with him. He probably knows something we don’t. He always seems to know everything,” Harry replied, but he seemed a little distracted. He took Draco’s hand and pulled him close. “I know you don’t like to do this in public, but I have this great need to kiss you right now. I don’t think I can wait until we’re home.”

 

Draco lifted a brow at the urgency in Harry’s voice. “You may kiss me,” he said, amused.

 

He was shocked when Harry grabbed him roughly and practically devoured him.

 

“What the—” Draco sputtered when Harry finally released him. “What the hell?”

 

“I have to have you. I thought a kiss would be enough, but I have to have you,” Harry murmured, seemingly to himself as he kissed Draco’s neck. He bit down lightly and began to suck at Draco’s skin as his hands roamed down. One hand squeezed Draco’s prick while the other settled on his waist to hold him close.

 

Draco pushed him away, appalled—and a little turned on. He couldn’t deny the arousal was there, but it was mostly buried beneath the fear of utter mortification should they be seen. “Control yourself, Potter! We’re at Hogwarts, standing out on the grounds, for the love of Merlin.”

 

“Then let’s go home,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s hand and walking backwards in the direction of the gates. He felt as though the fire was still burning within him. “Now.”

 

Draco stared at Harry. He’d never seen him so seriously desperate—at least not before they’d actually been naked and on the brink of climax.

 

“Fine,” he agreed, though he wondered if he really had any choice in the matter at all. He had a feeling Harry would drag him by his hair if he didn’t move quickly enough.

 

“Hurry up,” Harry demanded, practically running to the gates, pulling Draco along with him.

 

“Well, fuck, Harry, what has gotten into you?” Draco said irritably, shaking his hand loose from Harry’s.

 

“I think it’s the magic,” Harry said, a bit breathlessly. His face was flushed and his eyes were overly bright. “I’ve been holding it back but now…I think I’ll die if I don’t have you soon. I _need_ you.”

 

“Oh.” Draco considered this. Well, he supposed he didn’t mind if Harry got turned on every time he practiced this new kind of magic. He had a feeling he was in for some seriously intense sex. He smiled a little. He was suddenly feeling quite randy himself.

 

He walked more quickly and caught up with Harry. “Let’s go then. I’ll see if I can satisfy your need.”

 

“You always do,” Harry said, grinning at him.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-eight

 

 

The moment they were outside the gates, Harry grabbed Draco and Disapparated. They landed in the back of Grimmauld Place. As soon as they were inside the property wards, Harry Apparated them upstairs to their room.

 

Harry latched onto Draco and started tugging at his clothes. “Get these off,” he muttered between kisses.

 

They somehow managed to get undressed, though the fact that Harry couldn’t keep his hands off Draco hindered them a little. When they were naked, Harry pressed himself against Draco again and rubbed their erections together as he snogged him passionately.

 

“Tell me a fantasy,” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear. “Tell me one of your fantasies. I want to make it happen for you.”

 

Draco felt the heat wash through him at Harry’s words. A fantasy? Fantasies were private, weren’t they? Could he actually speak one of them out loud?

 

“I know you have fantasies,” Harry persisted. “Everyone does. You gave me one of mine. Let me give you one of yours.”

 

“Take…taking you against the wall,” Draco mumbled as Harry nibbled his way down his throat.

 

“Wall sex.” Draco could feel Harry grin against his neck. Harry looked up at him and met his eyes. “That’s a good one. In your fantasy, you’re giving?”

 

“Giving,” Draco said, breaking eye contact with Harry.

 

Harry frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” Draco kissed Harry again, but Harry pulled away.

 

“What is it? If you don’t want to do it, we certainly don’t have to, but…” He studied Draco’s face carefully. “You’re embarrassed.”

 

“I’m not embarrassed, it’s just…I’m not used to talking about fantasies. They’re private.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sincerely. “I didn’t think of it that way. I just wanted you to tell me what you wanted. I want to give you what you want.”

 

“I know, and it’s fine, you don’t need to be sorry.” Draco shook his head and laughed at himself. “I’m being a prat. I’m not shy about sex. Why I got worked up about telling you is beyond me.” He leaned in and kissed Harry. “I want you against the wall.”

 

Harry smiled slowly. “You can have me against the wall. Any wall you want.”

 

They started kissing again, and hands went back to travelling skin and making it tingle with anticipation. It became intense again very quickly, the need Harry had for Draco since commanding the elements still very much alive in him.

 

Harry sucked at Draco’s neck then bit him; Draco groaned. “Gods, I love that.”

 

“I know you do,” Harry said and did it again. He wet his fingers and used them to torment both of Draco’s nipples.

 

“I love that, too,” Draco gasped.

 

Harry began moving his mouth down Draco’s neck. As he did, he said, “This is your fantasy. You don’t have to tell me what you want if you don’t want to. Just show me. I’ll follow your lead.” With that he began sucking on Draco’s nipple and Draco pressed his hand behind Harry’s head to hold it in place. Harry’s hand began to stroke his cock, cupping the head in his palm and digging the edge of his thumb into the slit, causing it to ooze. Draco moaned so loudly he felt himself flush, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. 

 

Harry slid all the way down to his knees and took Draco in his mouth. He began working him hard and fast, and Draco’s knees nearly buckled. His slick tongue slid along the vein along the underside, exerting gentle pressure, then flicked repeatedly against the head. Draco’s excitement fluttered in his belly as Harry’s mouth, stretched wide to accommodate his girth, tightened and pulled upwards. Harry’s eyes were closed and the look of concentration on his face as he tugged lightly on Draco’s bollocks while sucking hard just at the head nearly undid Draco. When Harry’s mouth finally came back to his, his lips met Harry’s ravenously. He slid his hand up and down Harry’s swollen dick as Harry moaned into his mouth, and his nails bit into Draco’s arse.

 

Draco began walking Harry backwards, and Harry smiled in anticipation. He’d never had wall sex. He was pretty damn sure he was going to like it.

 

Draco let his fantasy come into his mind and pictured Harry facing the wall as he fucked him. They’d get to that part soon. He felt his cock leak a little and pushed Harry up against the wall beside their bed. He held him there by his hips and kissed him hard and deep. He ran his hands lightly over Harry’s sides and felt him tremble. He liked feeling that. Liked knowing he held Harry’s pleasure in his hands.

 

Harry had been quite turned on before they’d even gotten undressed; the excess energy inside him was making his nerves jangle, and he desperately needed an outlet. Now he had one, and Draco’s mouth and hands were making him even hotter.

 

Draco used his tongue to trace patterns on Harry’s chest as he slowly lowered to his knees. Harry’s hands ran restlessly through Draco’s hair as Draco teased and tormented him with his lips, his tongue, and his teeth. Harry clenched his own teeth to keep from demanding for Draco hurry the fuck up. He felt like he was about to explode, but this was Draco’s fantasy.

 

Then Draco began really working him, hard and fast, taking him deep in his mouth. This was more like it. Harry groaned and called out words of encouragement: “Yes, like that, oh, fuck, yes.” It was all he could do to keep from shoving Draco’s head down and forcing him to deep-throat Harry’s entire cock.

 

Draco abruptly stood up and roughly spun Harry to face the wall. He leaned in and said in his ear, “In my fantasy, I take you hard.” His hands caressed Harry’s arse, parting the globes to run his thumbs along the crease, before sliding one hand around to squeeze his cock.

 

“Take me hard,” Harry agreed breathlessly. This fantasy of Draco’s was starting to feel like one of his own. “Take me as hard as you want.”

 

“I will,” Draco whispered. He pressed himself against Harry’s back and let his erection nestle between Harry’s cheeks. He rubbed himself there, teasing Harry—and himself. Harry hummed and sighed and pushed back against him. Then Draco dragged the head of his cock over Harry’s hole, wetting it with his pre-come, and Harry tensed as he groaned.

 

“In this fantasy, do you also tease me to death?” he gasped, feeling wonderfully frustrated.

 

Draco smiled to himself. “Maybe.”

 

“Again with the not answering a question direct—oh yeah,” Harry muttered, his voice changing to one infused with anticipation as he felt fingers slide between his cheeks and rub his entrance. Harry groaned and bent his knees, sticking out his arse for Draco’s pleasure.

 

Draco inhaled sharply and began preparing Harry. Harry moaned and pushed back against his hand. Draco leaned around Harry and twisted Harry’s face around to kiss him. He thrust his tongue in Harry’s mouth and took control of the kiss. He explored every soft spot, every hard edge, all the while stretching Harry slowly with his fingers.

 

“Oh, God,” Harry muttered when Draco withdrew his fingers. He hadn’t used three fingers; he’d left Harry a little tight, which was more than all right with Harry. He liked it that way, and Draco knew he did.

 

Draco gripped Harry’s hips and thrust hard into his arse. Harry cried out, and his neck arched back. Draco buried himself deep and then held there. He draped himself over Harry’s back and ran his tongue down the side of Harry’s neck.

 

“Draco,” Harry gasped. He was pressed against the wall, a moth on a pin, as Draco used his tongue and teeth on his neck.

 

“My fantasy,” Draco reminded him. He dragged his teeth lightly down the tendon connecting Harry’s neck to his shoulder and felt Harry shudder. He moved to give the other side of his neck the same treatment, lightly stroking his fingers and nails down the back of Harry’s neck, from his hair to the base, knowing it was one of Harry’s erogenous zones; Harry moaned and shifted restlessly against the wall. He sucked at the skin and gave Harry a love bite to match the one Harry had once given him. It apparently turned Harry on, because he began muttering about it feeling good.

 

He slowly closed his teeth on the skin at the nape of Harry’s neck in a gentle bite and teased it with the tip of his tongue.Draco felt Harry jerk and felt the exquisite squeeze around his erection when Harry tightened up; his position prevented him from doing much, but he gave a little thrust as Harry groaned out his enjoyment of the bite. He dragged his teeth one last time towards the side of Harry’s neck before moving back so he was directly behind Harry again. He slowly withdrew almost completely from Harry and then held there a moment, teasing him. Harry cursed.

 

“Oh, fuck, Draco, do it. Please,” Harry begged, his fists clenching uselessly against the wall.

 

Draco slammed himself back in, and Harry’s “fuck, yes!” spurred him on. He began thrusting hard and fast, pulling almost all the way out before pushing in as deep as he could.

 

Harry had bent his knees again to take Draco deeper, and Draco’s blood ran hot as he watched his cock disappear into Harry’s tight hole again and again. “Yes, yes, oh fuck, just look at you. So hot,” he gasped. He gripped Harry’s hips tighter and kept pounding into his lover, who was writhing and crying out.

 

“God, God, oh, Draco. Draco, I love you. You feel so good. Give me more. You know you want to.”

 

Draco did and gave Harry more. Remembering how Harry had liked it before, he pulled all the way out before yanking Harry’s hips back as he drilled back inside him.

 

 _“Oh my God!”_ Harry shouted. “Like that! Oh, fuck, yes!”

 

Draco was giving him those really good thrusts again, the ones where by pulling out completely, he stretched Harry’s outer ring of muscles wide hard and fast when he thrust back in. Harry loved it. He fucking _loved_ it. The fact that Draco was hitting that magic place inside him every now and then just made everything even better.

 

“Oh, Merlin, Harry, so damn good,” Draco gritted out. He was getting close and wanted Harry to come. “Touch yourself,” he ordered.

 

Harry immediately began stroking his cock. It was slippery with pre-come, and his hand slid quickly up and down his shaft, twisting and pulling. Draco hit his prostate, and Harry’s breath exploded from his lungs. “Fuck!”

 

It didn’t take long before Harry was coming. White strips of come painted the flocked wallpaper, adding little vines among the leaves. The orgasm roared though him, a mad burst of pleasure, leaving him panting and out of breath by the time it was over.

 

Draco felt Harry come and let himself go. He fucked and fucked into Harry, battering his arse with his groin. Then he thrust hard one last time, gripping Harry’s hips hard enough to leave dents as he shook and gasped through the insane pleasure that whipped through him and left him wrecked.

 

They stood there, both breathing harshly, for several minutes. Draco wasn’t sure who was holding who up.

 

“Sweet Merlin, Draco,” Harry said, shifting in place a little. “I really, really liked your fantasy.”

 

Draco laughed and withdrew. He quickly cast a cleansing spell and then pulled Harry around to face him. He kissed him leisurely and enjoyed it when Harry’s arms came around him and held him.

 

“I really liked it, too,” he said when they pulled apart. “Thanks for that.”

 

“Any time,” Harry replied, grinning. “Holy shit, I need to sit down.”

 

Like drunkards, they staggered to the bed, which fortunately wasn’t very far away, and collapsed on it in a heap. They snickered at each other and fell back into snogging.

 

They eventually settled down, Harry resting his head on Draco’s chest.

 

“I’m knackered. But I’m also starving,” Harry said. “I’m so comfortable I don’t want to move, but can we get something to eat?” 

 

“Considering we skipped lunch, and you probably used a ton of energy doing that magic this morning and then having sex—I imagine you are starving. I’m hungry, too.” He sat up, dislodging Harry. “Get up, sloth.”

 

Harry's stomach growled, and he laughed as he got out of bed. “I could eat a hippogriff.”

 

They went to the kitchen, and Harry was too hungry to be bothered actually cooking anything, so they made huge sandwiches and got out a packet of the salt and vinegar crisps Harry favoured. They didn’t do much talking at first, concentrating simply on filling their bellies.

 

“Tell me more about commanding the elements,” Draco said as Harry bit into his second sandwich. He gave Harry a cat-ate-the-canary smile. “I must say I enjoyed the aftereffects.”

 

Harry grinned. “Me too. That was brilliant. This whole day’s been brilliant. Draco, I don’t know how to put into words what I experienced today. Maybe you should try it one day.”

 

“I don’t have what you have, Harry,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I’m powerful, I know that, and I’m satisfied with being better than most wizards.” He smirked.

 

Harry chuckled. “So I don’t need to be worried about you being jealous?” he asked, only kidding.

 

“No, of course not,” Draco said. “I’m not like Weas—sorry.” He apologised immediately. “Old habits.”

 

“It’s all right,” Harry said. He knew it wasn’t easy for Draco to curb his tongue where Ron was concerned, and he appreciated the effort he made. “Ron does get jealous sometimes. It can make me crazy, but…” He shrugged. “I’m hoping he gets over it now that we’re older.

 

“Anyway, I wish I could explain what it was like better. It’s just impossible to put into words. It’s like I really _become_ the element. I think there’s a part of me that knows my body is standing on the ground, though I’m not at all conscious of it. There’s no awareness of my body, only my magic and how it’s becoming one with the magic of the element. I liked water and fire best. Fire was…incredible. The rush, the power, the joy…” He shook his head. “It’s indescribable.”

 

“It seemed to bring you joy. You looked so happy every time you finished commanding one of the elements.” Draco smiled. “It was good to see you so happy.”

 

“I was happy. I am happy.” He laid his hand over Draco’s. “You make me happy.”

 

“You make me happy,” Draco said. “But that magic today—that was a different kind of happiness. You were like a child on Christmas morning. Delighted.”

 

“Delight is a good word,” Harry agreed. “As is joy. As is…clean.”

 

“Clean?”

 

“Yes. Draco, there’s a…lightness inside me right now. A feeling I haven’t felt since…”

 

“Since you were held captive,” Draco finished quietly.

 

“Yes,” Harry said. “I feel as though I might have…I don’t know. Healed a little bit? The way the power gushed through me, I think it washed away some of the darkness.”

 

“I hope it did,” Draco said, turning his hand over to mate with Harry’s. “If this is a side effect of doing this kind of magic, well, it would be a wonderful benefit.”

 

“It would,” Harry agreed. “I wonder if it was just a first time kind of thing though. Maybe the rush of everything will settle a bit the more I do it.”

 

“Even if it does, I think it will always bring you joy. Since you’ve discovered your power, your real power, everything has been focussed on using it to destroy Voldemort. But after Voldemort is gone, you will still have this to explore. I think Dumbledore can teach you a lot more. I think he’s looking forward to it.”

 

“ _I’m_ looking forward to it!” Harry said, laughing. “Imagine, me being able to learn things from Albus Dumbledore that others can’t. Me, Harry Potter, the boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs.”

 

Draco cocked his head. “Is that how you think of yourself?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Not always. But sometimes, like now, I feel so humbled by what I have now. I spent more of my life living in the cupboard than not—so I guess it’s ingrained in me to think of myself as that boy. And that boy never imagined, not in a million, trillion years, what he would gain, what he would be given, simply because he had magic hidden away inside him.”

 

That’s when it hit Draco: the realisation that the way Harry felt about the gifts he saw as having been bestowed on him when he joined the magical world was the way Muggle-borns must feel. He’d always thought of Muggle-borns as being less because they hadn’t grown up in the wizarding world with magic surrounding them. But he certainly didn’t think of Harry as being less, and for all intents and purposes, he’d joined the wizarding world as a Muggle-born, despite having had magical parents. It was something to think about.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked, clueing in to the thoughtful, distant expression on Draco’s face.

 

“What? Oh, nothing. What you said—it made me think of something.”

 

“What?”

 

Draco hesitated. “It’s something I need to think about some more before I’m able to discuss it.”

 

“All right,” Harry replied easily, and Draco was glad to have a boyfriend that didn’t push him to know every thought that crossed his mind.

 

“Going back to you merging your magic—did you notice how Dumbledore looked when he did it?”

 

“You mean his eyes? And the way his skin seemed to almost glow? Not glow, exactly, but a kind of…light.”

 

“Yes. There was a radiance to him. I saw it on you, too. Not with air and maybe just a flicker with earth. But I definitely saw it with water and fire. And your eyes were fathomless. They were so deep and dark.”

 

“Really?” Harry asked, fascinated. “I want to see Dumbledore do more of it. I think what he showed us was nothing compared to what he can really do.”

 

“You’re probably right. Ask him tomorrow.”

 

“I will.” Harry sat back and sighed. “I’m full. But now I have another problem.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I still have all this…energy inside me. I don’t know what to do with it.”

 

“I’m not sure training would be a good idea. They way you are now, you might blow up the house.”

 

Harry tilted his head and smiled slowly. “You don’t happen to interested in going another round, do you?”

 

Draco smirked. “I suppose you want to top this time?”

 

“I find I’m rather amenable to that idea,” Harry said, smirking as he stood up.

 

“Amenable?” Draco snickered at Harry’s choice of words. “I’m sure you are.”

 

“Race you upstairs,” Harry said, grinning. “Last one upstairs has to make breakfast for a week.”

 

Draco grinned back at him. “You’re on.”

 

They both took off running.

 

 

*****************************************************************************

 

 

Harry and Draco returned to Hogwarts the next day and the day after that so Harry could practise merging his magic with the magic of the elements. Harry asked Dumbledore to show them what he could do, and Dumbledore seemed happy to comply. It occurred to Draco that Dumbledore might be glad to have someone with whom to finally share this ability; if he were capable of doing it, Draco wouldn’t want to be the only one.

 

After showing them some rather impressive magic that left them both awed, Dumbledore first had Harry spend some time practicing one specific element, again starting with air and followed by earth. The following day Harry worked on water and fire. Harry still had a more difficult time disconnecting from the magic of fire, which concerned Draco a little, but by the end of the day, he seemed to have mastered it.

 

“You continue to impress me, Harry,” Dumbledore said at the end of the day. “When I learned to do this, the witch who taught me had me completely master one element at a time before moving on, so I don’t know if I could have become so proficient at all four so quickly. She was a very cautious witch and I, of course, was impatient to move forward faster.” He smiled as Harry chuckled. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war, I would have taken it more slowly with you. But you’ve come along so quickly, I see nothing wrong with doing it this way.”

 

“I imagine you could have picked up all four quickly yourself,” Harry said.

 

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I like to think so. Tomorrow morning we shall work on spell-casting while you are merged.”

 

Unfortunately that plan was derailed by another Death Eater attack on Hogsmeade.

 

 

************************************************************************

 

 

They got the fire-call from Molly Weasley just before ten; Harry was glad the call hadn’t come in fifteen minutes later, as he and Draco had been headed for bed and may have already been in the middle of the kind of intimate activity that was awkward to interrupt.

 

As they were all capable of long-distance Apparition, they went directly to Hogsmeade, arriving inside the Shrieking Shack as Molly had told them to do.

 

“I love you. Stay safe,” Harry said to Draco after kissing him quickly.

 

“Keep the man I love safe,” Draco returned and then they were out the door.

 

They were separated from Remus almost immediately as Draco and Harry took on two Death Eaters in a short but intense duel. After defeating their opponents, they started to move closer to the centre of town. A Death Eater leapt out at Harry, taking him by surprise, but he recovered quickly and became caught up in a duel with the woman. He was peripherally aware of Draco duelling someone else to his left as he struck the woman with a blasting hex, sending her flying backwards. He was about to follow up with a Stunner when a vicious and all-too-familiar pain lanced across his back.

 

Harry fell to his knees, gasping from the pain. Twisting sideways, he somehow managed to shoot out both hands, using his left to Stun the woman who was getting up from where she’d hit the ground and using his wand to inflict the same cutting curse that had just ripped open his back on the Death Eater who’d cursed him. The Death Eater collapsed, and Harry gritted his teeth against the fiery agony searing his skin. He _had_ to stay focussed. He quickly shielded himself from any other potential hexes that might come his way from someone else, but then collapsed forward, catching himself on one hand. He was struggling to keep himself from surrendering to the trauma and the dark memories when he felt someone grab his arm. The next thing he knew he was somewhere else with Draco.

 

“Not again,” Harry gasped. “Oh, God, Draco, not again.” He’d landed in the same kneeling position and bent over at the waist, gripping his thighs in an effort to control the pain and the need to scream as he fought off the memories that wanted to swamp him.

 

“Hold still,” Draco said tersely. Ruthlessly pushing aside every emotion but cold determination, he ripped Harry’s shirt apart where it had been torn by the cutting curse and tried to ignore the blood still flowing from the wound.

 

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the healing spell Madam Pomfrey had taught him for Ron Weasley. Opening his eyes, he pointed his wand at the gash and cast as powerfully as he could. He let out a little sigh of relief as the long, gaping wound began closing immediately. It was fully closed in under a minute.

 

Harry was trembling with the effort of staying in the present. His mind wanted to take him back to the cellar, where he’d been subjected to the same curse so many times before. He choked out a breath when he felt the cut across his back starting to close. Healing hurt a little, but not nearly as bad as the curse itself. He ordered himself to breathe, breathe, breathe. He was all right. He was with Draco. He wasn’t being tortured again. He repeated this mantra over and over.

 

He wasn’t aware of Draco moving to the doorway and standing there for several minutes. He was only aware of trying to breathe and that the pain was a little less bright.

 

Harry jerked when Draco’s hand lifted his chin.

 

As if from a great distance, he heard Draco say, “Harry, I need you to drink this. It will help with the pain.”

 

Harry felt cool glass pressed against his lips and opened his mouth automatically. He coughed a little as the foul potion slid down his throat. A second phial immediately followed the first, and Harry obediently swallowed that one as well. When he felt Draco’s hands on his face, he made himself open his eyes.

 

“Give it a minute,” Draco said, his eyes searching Harry’s face. He’d shut everything down and was controlled and calm. “The pain potion should kick in soon. The other potion was blood replenishing.” When Harry’s eyes unfocussed, he grabbed his chin. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Look at me. It’s Draco.”

 

Harry stared unseeingly at Draco’s shoulder. “Draco. Not Malfoy. Draco.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m Draco,” Draco said, wondering at little about Harry’s comment about him being Draco instead of Malfoy. Was he thinking of Lucius?

 

Harry blinked rapidly and exhaled sharply. “Draco.”

 

“You’re all right. The cut is healed. The pain should be receding. You’re here with me, Draco. You’re safe. I’m with you. Harry, I need you to listen. You’re all right. You’re all right.”

 

“Draco.” Harry’s breath was coming a little less harshly now.

 

“Yes, I’m here, love.”

 

“Oh, shit, Draco.” Harry’s eyes closed and he inhaled and exhaled deeply one last time. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and they were aware.

 

Draco studied his face and let out a sigh of relief. “How’s the pain?”

 

“Better,” Harry said. “It’s not so bad now.”

 

“Just keep still and let the potions continue working.”

 

Harry looked around and took in their surroundings for the first time. “Shrieking Shack?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You healed me?”

 

“Yes, I did. I used the same spell Pomfrey taught me before.” Draco shuffled around Harry and surveyed the now completely healed cut. “I’m going to wash off this blood with some water. All right?”

 

“All right.”

 

Draco used the _Aguamenti_ charm to clean the worst of the blood from Harry’s back, then _Tergeo_ to siphon off some of the blood that had soaked his shirt and trousers. He didn’t know any cleaning spells that completely removed blood from clothing, so that would just have to do; Harry’s clothes certainly weren’t back to normal, but they were better.

 

He moved back around to face Harry.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“I’m all right. Pain’s pretty much gone.”

 

“Good. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll Apparate us to the Hogwarts gates.”

 

Harry allowed Draco to help him up and glanced toward the window. “We should see what’s happening with the battle.”

 

“I don’t care about the fucking battle,” Draco bit out, edgy and anxious to get Harry to a proper Healer. “We’re getting you to the infirmary.”

 

Stubbornly, Harry moved over to the window. He could see some flashes of light, so the fighting was still happening. He felt Draco come up beside him.

 

“We should go help.”

 

Draco stared at Harry in disbelief. “Harry Potter, you have no say in this.” He took Harry’s arm and Disapparated.

 

They appeared at the Hogwarts gates and were greeted by Hagrid.

 

“Harry! You two all right?” he asked anxiously.

 

“He was hurt; I’ve healed him, but I need to get him to the infirmary,” Draco said shortly.

 

“I’m fine, Hagrid,” Harry assured his friend.

 

Hagrid moved out of the way. “Pomfrey an’ the other two Healers are up there. Go on.”

 

Draco nodded, and Harry patted Hagrid on the arm as they walked past. Draco hustled Harry up the stairs and into the hospital ward. Spying Healer Spratt, he beckoned to her and walked Harry to a bed.

 

Draco gave Healer Spratt a brief run-down of Harry’s injury and the treatment he’d already received. She examined Harry quickly and efficiently.

 

“You did a fine job with the spell,” she commended Draco. “Mr Potter, I’m going to give you some more blood replenishing potion as a precaution. Do you need another pain potion as well?”

“No, thank you, the pain is gone.”

 

She stepped away and returned with a potion. This reminded Draco, and he reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the two empty phials. “Here, these are yours.”

 

“Mine?” she asked, taking them from him.

 

“Yes, I Summoned them from the infirmary for Harry.”

 

Harry and Spratt looked at Draco in surprise.

 

“It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask where’d you gotten those,” Harry said.

 

“You Summoned them from _Hogsmeade_?” Spratt squeaked. She gave Draco an appraising look. “I must say I’m very impressed!”

 

Draco shrugged. “Harry needed them quickly. I didn’t want him to have to wait for relief from the pain.”

 

Healer Spratt glanced up as some people came through the doors. “Mr Potter, I want you to lie down on your side and rest until I can come back and check on you.” With one last look at Draco, she hurried away to help the newcomers.

 

“I think you have an admirer,” Harry chuckled.

 

“I’m taken,” Draco said curtly. “Lie down.”

 

Harry wanted to argue, but the strained look on Draco’s face stopped him. “Will you sit with me?”

 

Draco levitated a chair over and parked himself next to Harry’s bed. Harry reached out and took his hand. “Thank you for taking care of me, love.”

 

Draco stared down at their clasped hands. Harry wasn’t really all that tanned, but next to Draco’s pale skin, he looked as though he’d just spent a week on a beach.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, looking back up at Harry. “You were having a hard time back there.”

 

Harry looked away. “I almost lost it.”

 

“You held it together.”

 

Harry looked back at Draco. “So did you. You not only healed me, but you kept me from losing it.”

 

“I might have helped, but you did most of the work on that yourself.” He tilted his head. “When you were…well, when you were a bit out of it, you said I was Draco, not Malfoy. Do you know what you meant? Were you thinking of my father?”

 

Harry blinked. “No, I wasn’t thinking about Lucius.” He thought about it for a moment. “I think…I think I meant you were Draco…my Draco. You weren’t still Malfoy, like you used to be.”

 

“Ah. I was Malfoy when you were in that cellar.”

 

“Yes.” Harry sighed. “Did you see me get hit?”

 

Draco closed his eyes. “Yes. It took ten years off my life.”

 

“I know what you mean,” Harry said. “I felt the same way when I saw you hit with the organ-freezing curse.”

 

“I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I had to…deal with the Death Eater I was duelling. By the time I had, you’d taken down the two who were coming at you.”

 

“Deal with?” He studied Draco’s face. “Do you mean you killed him?”

 

“Yes.” Draco wet his lips. “I killed the one who cursed you, too.”

 

“I got him with the cutting curse—the same one he used on me.”

 

“I know; I saw him lying on the ground, bleeding. He looked like he was trying to get up.”

 

“You could have Stunned him,” Harry said quietly, watching Draco’s face carefully.

 

Bitter fury leapt into Draco’s eyes. “I chose not to.”

 

Harry squeezed his hand. “I’m not blaming you, love. I understand. I killed the one who cursed you that time. Trust me, I understand.”

 

Some of the tension left Draco’s body, but his eyes stayed hot. “He deserved to die. He could have killed you. He could have just as easily hit you with the Killing Curse as a cutting curse.”

 

“He could have, but he didn’t. I’m all right. You saw to that. And you got revenge for both of us.”

 

The heat faded from Draco’s eyes, and he sighed deeply. “Do you wish I hadn’t?”

 

“What I wish is that this damn war would fucking end. If I could just kill Voldemort, there’d be no need for either us to be taking revenge or killing again.”

 

“You’re the one avoiding the question this time.”

 

“Draco, if anyone knows what’s it’s like to want to take revenge, it’s me. I couldn’t care less that man is dead. What I care about is it seems to be bothering you.”

 

Draco just watched Harry for a moment. “I didn’t just kill him because he’d cursed you. Or because he looked like he was trying to get up to come at you again.”

 

Harry cocked his head. “What other reason did you have?”

 

“He tortured you. He was one of the ones who tortured you.”

 

“Then you really did get revenge for both of us. I don’t like the part of myself that’s glad he’s dead but…I can’t deny it exists.”

 

“I was worried it would upset you, knowing I’d killed that man when I had a choice not to.”

 

“I sort of wish it did, but it doesn’t. Does it bother you that you did?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Not really.”

 

“All right then.” Harry smiled a little.“I guess that’s—”

 

They both looked up as Hagrid burst through the doors carrying someone in his arms. “Need sum help ‘ere!” he bellowed.

 

Harry was out of bed in a flash. “Hermione!”

 


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-nine

 

 

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and kept him from rushing forward.

 

“Let me go!” Harry spat furiously, trying to yank his arm free.

 

Draco watched as Healers Spratt and Ogden rushed to the bed where Hagrid was gently laying Hermione’s limp body. He heard Hagrid tell the Healers it was a purple spell that had hit her.

 

“You’ll just be in the way. Let them work,” he said to Harry.

 

Harry stopped trying to break Draco’s hold, but his body remained tense and stiff. “Hagrid!”

 

Hagrid turned from where he was anxiously watching the Healers examine Hermione. Seeing Harry, he lumbered over.

 

“What happened?” Harry asked sharply.

 

“I dunno. George Weasley showed up at the gates wit’ her in ‘is arms an’ gave her to me. Said she was hit by summat purple.”

 

“I wonder if it’s the same spell,” Harry muttered, his eyes trained on the curtain the Healers had just drawn around Hermione’s bed.

 

“What spell?” Draco asked.

 

“Dolohov hit her with some purple flame spell in the Department of Mysteries that night. It caused her a fair amount of damage.”

 

“There’s more than one purple spell.”

 

“I know,” Harry snapped. He was practically quivering with nerves.

 

“Harry, sit down,” Draco said. “You’re not helping her by not taking care of yourself.”

 

Draco pulled Harry back to sit on the bed. He wasn’t going to waste his breath trying to get Harry to lie down. But sitting was better than standing.

 

“Did George say anything about the battle?” Harry asked suddenly. “Is it over?”

 

“Wasn’t over. He said he ‘ad to get back to it.”

 

Harry stood up again and took two steps before Draco blocked him.

 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

 

“To fight,” Harry said impatiently. “I’m fine. I’m healed—I have no pain. We’re both needed there, Draco. We can’t leave them any more short-handed than they already are.”

 

“The hell you are. Spratt told you to rest—Harry, that cutting curse wasn’t a minor injury.”

 

Harry met Draco’s eyes, and the look in them was very cold. “I’ve survived worse. I’m going. You can come with me or not.”

 

He shoved Draco out of his way and headed quickly to the doors, the tattered back of his shirt fluttering. Draco cursed and hurried to catch up with him.

 

“I’m kicking your arse for this later,” he said irately.

 

“You do that,” Harry retorted, picking up the pace.

 

They Apparated from the gates back to the Shrieking Shack. Draco couldn’t help but notice where Harry’s blood had stained the floor; the sight of it had his gut twisting. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Harry reapplied Draco’s glamour and let Draco do his. Before Harry could run out the door, Draco grabbed him.

 

“Draco—”

 

Draco kissed him, hard. “I love you. Stay safe.”

 

Harry’s eyes softened. “Keep the man I love safe.”

 

They looked at each other a moment more then Harry turned for the door. They ran out and saw the battle was indeed still going on, though Harry thought it had probably died down since it had started.

 

Harry took aim at a Death Eater duelling Kingsley and knocked him out with a Stunner to the back. Kingsley shot him a grin and then wrapped the man in ropes with _Incarcerous_.

 

Harry turned to move on and was just able to duck a jet of red light headed straight for his face. He shot out his wand, shielding himself from whatever spell the Death Eater bearing down on him threw at him next. The man was throwing out spells rapid-fire, pushing Harry backwards, and Harry had to concentrate on keeping his shield up.

 

Harry took a chance and dropped flat on the ground and tried to Stun the Death Eater with his left hand, but the man jumped away. Harry took the opportunity to push forward, taking his turn to batter the man’s hastily erected shield with spell after spell.

 

_“Confringo!”_ Harry’s blasting spell broke through the man’s shield, and Harry followed up with a Jelly-Fingers Curse; the Death Eater’s wand fell from his useless fingers. Harry knocked him down with a Stunning spell then wrapped him in ropes and blocked him from Disapparating.

 

Harry looked around and saw Draco engaged with a Death Eater. Seeing a second Death Eater taking aim at Molly Weasley, who was already fighting one Death Eater, he trusted Draco to handle himself and went to the aid of his surrogate mother. Running, he flicked his wand and tried the get the man coming at Molly’s back with a Body-Bind, but the man saw him and shielded himself. Harry tried again but was blocked. He saw Molly stumble out of the corner of his eye and used his wand to disarm the Death Eater she was fighting while simultaneously shielding himself from his own opponent with his left hand. Molly Stunned her Death Eater, allowing Harry to focus on his own. He went at him hard and had him down in only a few minutes.

 

“All right, Molly?” he called out, scanning the area. They were over by Honeydukes and were actually alone for the moment. 

 

“Yes, Harry, thank you—that is you, Harry, right?”

 

“Yes, it’s me.”

 

“I thought so—I could tell by the way you were fighting. Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine. Let’s head farther into town.”

 

They walked cautiously, wands at the ready. When they got closer to Gladrags, though, they saw the battle was over, and the Order was gathered in the middle of High Street.

Harry spotted Draco immediately, standing a little off to the side with Remus, and gave an inward sigh of relief upon seeing them both. Draco had removed his glamour, and Harry ended his own as well. It looked like the entire Weasley clan—no, Harry decided, counting heads. One was missing…Ron. Harry knew instantly that Ron had gone on to Hogwarts to be with Hermione.

 

Dumbledore finished the conference he’d been having with Kingsley and Tonks and came over to the rest of the Order. The more seriously injured had all been taken to Hogwarts, so all that was left to do was deal with captured Death Eaters and the dead, which was the Aurors’ responsibility. 

 

“We lost Sturgis Podmore tonight,” Dumbledore said, the sadness evident in his lined face. “He was an original member of the Order and shall be greatly missed.”

Harry hadn’t known Sturgis well but had liked him and was both saddened and angered by his death. How many more people had to die before he could kill Voldemort?

 

“Those needing injuries tended are welcome to come to Hogwarts. Otherwise, we shall convene tomorrow night at seven.” With that Dumbledore moved off in the direction of Hogwarts with McGonagall at his side. Harry thought Dumbledore looked older than ever and felt sorry for him.

 

“Are we going back to Hogwarts to see about Granger?” Draco asked as he moved to stand by Harry.

 

“Yes. If you don’t want to come you don’t have to. You can go home and get some rest.”

 

Draco studied Harry’s face. “Trying to get rid of me?”

 

“No, I just—”

 

“You’re still angry.”

 

Harry’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath. “Yes. No. Not really.”

 

Draco snorted. “Which is it?”

 

“I was angry, but not so much at you. You were just a handy target because you got in my way.” He regarded Draco thoughtfully. “I can’t tell if you’re still angry with me.”

 

“Yes. No. Not really,” Draco said dryly, making Harry laugh.

 

“Which is it then?”

 

“I was pissed off you wouldn’t listen to reason, and stay in the infirmary. Then I realised I was being pissed off at you for one of your basic personality traits, so there really wasn’t any point in it.”

 

Harry snickered. “Which personality trait is that?”

 

“Stubborn heroism.”

 

Harry snorted out a laugh. “I’ll give you stubborn.”

 

“I don’t feel like arguing that you’re a hero, too, so we’ll just leave it at that. Let’s go. I know you want to see how Granger is. And Spratt can give you a final look as well.”

 

They Apparated to the gates, and as they walked across the grounds, Harry took Draco’s hand and pulled him in for a light kiss. “Thank you for stopping me from going back into battle angry with you and not telling you I love you.”

 

“I didn’t want to ruin our good luck streak.”

 

Harry smiled a little, and they continued walking. “I do love you, even when you get in my way and piss me off.”

 

Draco slanted him a look. “I know.”

 

Harry chuckled. “This is the part where you tell me you love me too, even when you’re pissed off.”

 

“Is it?” Draco stopped walking and surprised Harry by kissing him, holding his face in place with the palm of his hand. “I love you, even when I’m pissed off.”

 

Harry smiled. “You know someone might be looking out one of the windows.”

 

“Fuck the world.” Draco kissed Harry again, slanting his mouth over Harry’s to sweep his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry hummed and took Draco’s hips in his hands, pulling him closer. They snogged leisurely for a while, and Draco felt some of the tension inside him melt away.

 

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Draco said against Harry’s lips. “I’m very, very glad you’re all right.”

 

Harry had almost forgotten he’d been injured and realised his boyfriend had not only watched him get hit by a potentially deadly spell, had not only healed him and helped him not fall completely into a flashback, but had then been dragged back into battle by said boyfriend. It had been a very stressful night for Draco.

 

“I’m all right,” Harry assured him. “I’m glad you are, too. You are, aren’t you?”

 

“I am now.”

 

“Thank you again for healing me, keeping me sane.”

 

“You can thank me by not getting injured again,” Draco said dryly.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Harry promised him. “C’mon, I want to see how Hermione is.”

 

They finally made it to the infirmary and spied Ron sitting by Hermione’s bed, holding her hand. Draco hung back when Harry started to walk over to them.

 

“Go on. I’ll wait for you.”

 

Harry searched his face and understood Draco was giving him some time to be with his best friends and appreciated it.

 

“I’ll be back soon.” He approached Ron, who looked up when Harry’s shadow fell over him.

 

“How is she?”

 

“She’s going to be fine,” Ron said. “At least that’s what they tell me. She hasn’t woken up yet.”

 

“Should she have?”

 

Ron shook his head. “They said probably not for several more hours. They said it was good, she needed a lot of rest.”

 

“Do they know what happened to her?”

 

“Not really. There was some internal damage, but they’ve healed it. It sounded a bit like what happened when she was hurt in the Department of Mysteries, but Madam Pomfrey said that was worse.”

 

“Good,” Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. “When I heard she’d been hit by something purple, I actually wondered if it could have been the same spell. I’m glad this one was less serious.”

 

“Me too.” When Harry conjured a chair and took up a seat next to him, Ron noticed his bloody shirt.

 

“You were injured? Are you all right?”

 

“Cutting curse to the back,” Harry said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Draco healed it. He used the same spell he used on you. Healer Spratt checked me out, said I’m fine.”

 

“Sorry you were hit, but I’m glad Malfoy was able to heal you.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Hurt like a bitch.”

 

Ron chuckled. “So I seem to recall.” He turned Hermione’s small hand over in his and studied it. “I’m going to ask her to marry me,” he said softly. “When the war’s over, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

 

Harry’s brows lifted. “Really? Wow.”

 

“We’ve been together close to two years now. When I found out she’d been hurt tonight…it hit me that I don’t know what I’d do without her. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

 

Harry smiled. “I know what you mean.”

 

“Do you?” Ron asked curiously. “Do you really love him that much? You haven’t been with him very long.”

 

“I know, but…I do. I do love him that much. It’s just one of those things you simply know.”

 

“Can you see yourself marrying him one day?”

 

“I can, yes. Not now. Not even for a while maybe. I’d like to finish school before I settle down.”

 

“If she says yes, we won’t marry until after we’re done with school,” Ron said ruefully. “No way Hermione’d give up finishing her last year!”

 

Harry grinned. “You are so right.” He looked at Hermione. “I’m so glad she’s going to be ok. Will you Floo me later when she wakes up? Let me know how she is? I’ll come visit when she’s up to it.”

 

“Sure thing. Go home, get some sleep. You need it, especially after being injured.” Ron frowned. “Hang on. You just came in from Hogsmeade, didn’t you? Did you leave the infirmary? Go back?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I was here when Hagrid brought Hermione in, and when I found out the battle was still going on, I figured I’d go lend a hand.”

 

Ron shook his head. “You’re something else. I’m surprised they let you leave.”

 

“Didn’t ask.” Harry grinned. “Just left.”

 

“Brass ones,” Ron said, a hint of amused admiration in his tone. “You’ve got brass ones, mate.”

 

Harry laughed and felt better for it. “Tell Hermione I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

 

“I will.”

 

Harry made his way back over to Draco, who informed him Remus had been by but had left to go back home. “How’s Granger?” he asked.

 

“She’s going to be fine. Some internal damage, but it’s been healed.” Harry let out a breath. “I’m very relieved.”

 

“I’m glad she’ll be all right. Ready to go?”

 

Harry nodded, and they went back home. After showering, which included some more lazy snogging, they went to bed.

 

The next morning, after taking time to celebrate they were both safe and well by making love, Harry Flooed Dumbledore to ask about his lesson.

 

“We can call it off for today. I know you must be tired. And I’m sorry about Sturgis. He was a good man.”

 

“He was. Thank you. I’d rather go ahead with the practise, if you are up to it. I understand you were injured fairly seriously last night.”

 

His back ached a little, but Harry wouldn’t admit it to anyone. “I’m fine now. When shall we come?”

 

“Two o’clock.”

 

Harry ended the conversation and sat down to eat a late breakfast. He chatted with Remus and Draco and learnt Voldemort had not made an appearance at the battle. Harry was glad, as he would have felt like he’d missed an opportunity to kill the bastard due to missing most of the battle due to his injury.

 

Harry and Draco headed to Hogwarts. On this, the fourth day of his training, Harry focussed on doing spells while he was commanding the elements. Dumbledore would tell Harry a spell to try to do while he was linked. This was more difficult for Harry. Harry had trouble trying to do a specific spell—the spells he’d done the first day had been natural extensions of the magic and had happened organically. Several times he lost command of the magic of the element while he was trying to cast a spell simultaneously. Fortunately, nothing serious happened as a result. Once the light breeze had blown up into strong wind that bent the trees of the Forbidden Forest and whipped the branches of the Whomping Willow. They’d all gotten drenched when the gentle rain Harry had commanded became a downpour. It hadn’t been a big deal, but Draco could tell it bothered Harry to have lost control. After another hour, it was clear Harry was getting frustrated. Draco didn’t think he was the only one who noticed, as Dumbledore called for an end to the lesson after only a couple of hours.

 

“Why can’t I just do it?” Harry grumbled when he and Draco got home. “Why was learning to merge my magic with the magic of the element and command it so much easier?”

 

“Why are you being so hard on yourself? Did you master every spell you were taught in school the first time you tried?”

 

“No, but…”

 

“But nothing. Think of it as starting over as a first-year. You have to learn the steps and stages before you become proficient.”

 

“But I did the spell-casting that first day.”

 

“Yes, but you did it without planning it or trying to do something specific. You said yourself you didn’t feel like you were really thinking while you were merged. Now Dumbledore is asking you to think, and do something that requires very specific thought. You’ll try again tomorrow. Try to relax a little. By the end there you were so frustrated I think you were blocking yourself.”

 

“You might be right,” Harry said grudgingly.

 

“I usually am,” Draco drawled.

 

“Oh, be quiet,” Harry said, trying not to smile.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“A little. I might have an apple. I think I’m fine with waiting ‘til dinner to eat anything more.”

 

“You can eat your apple while I work on the Apparition Hoops. I’m a little behind there.”

 

“That’s my fault,” Harry said, a bit apologetically.

 

“It’s not anyone’s fault. But from now on, after we get home—and after you get the energy out of your system—I need to be working on them everyday instead of lazing about in bed with you.”

 

“So you’re saying I only get a quickie tomorrow?” Harry teased.

 

“If you’re lucky,” Draco said, smirking. “You don’t seem so desperate today, so I’m going upstairs now. I’ll see you later.”

 

“See you later.”

 

Draco worked until quite late on the Hoops. Harry had actually fallen asleep waiting for him. Draco slid into bed quietly. Harry looked very young when he slept, with his hair all tousled, and his face lax and peaceful. Draco hoped it stayed peaceful—Harry hadn’t had a flashback since he’d started his lessons with Dumbledore. Perhaps it was helping. Perhaps time was helping. It might be both. Draco was just grateful. No matter how many times Draco saw Harry perform the magic of commanding an element, his power simply floored Draco. Dumbledore fit Draco’s mental image of a powerful wizard—he was older, he had that beard, the presence, the ability to lead and command. Harry was just…Harry. Oh, Harry could lead. With more experience, he’d be an excellent leader. But Harry was so young and so humble you’d never know he held so much power within himself. Draco supposed that was what made Harry so special. He kissed Harry lightly and snuggled down next to him. He was lucky to be with someone as special as Harry.

 

 

**************************************************************************

 

 

Next morning, Dumbledore started with a different approach.

 

“Doing this type of magic makes you happy, doesn’t it?” he asked Harry.

 

“Yes, very happy. I enjoy it.”

 

“When you merge your magic this time, I want you to try to consciously think of something else that makes you happy. I want you to hold onto that thought and that feeling. Use it to centre yourself; use it as a focal point before you try to cast a spell.”

 

“All right.”

 

“I’m going to let you choose the spell you want to try to cast today, but I still want you to do something related to the element you are merged with, just as you were doing yesterday. It will still be a specific spell, but it will come from your own thoughts. Perhaps it will be a little more natural for you this way. You tend to perform magic more from your heart than your head. I think you always have. This method might match your natural tendencies more.”

 

“Ok, I can try that,” Harry agreed.

 

“Think of several spells or actions related to water. Have them prepared in your mind before you begin.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and thought of different things he knew how to do with water.

 

“I’m ready,” he said, opening his eyes.

 

“Remember to think of a happy thought or feeling first. Then I will walk you through the meditation again. Concentrate on that happy thought as you merge.”

 

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. Draco listened as Dumbledore walked him through a longer meditation than he had yesterday.

 

Harry tried to keep his mind focussed on his happy thought and the water spells as he allowed his magic to blend with the magic of water. It took him a little longer to merge, but he wasn’t aware of it. He thought deliberately of rain.

 

Draco glanced up as rain started to fall. He only felt a few drops, however, before he realised Harry had done something to protect him and Dumbledore from getting wet. It was like they were both standing under invisible umbrellas.

 

Dumbledore walked Harry back down, and the rain stopped.

 

Harry opened his eyes “You’re dry! I did it!”

 

“You commanded water into rain then deliberately blocked the rain from falling on us?” Dumbledore clarified.

 

“Yes, that was exactly what I wanted to do.”

 

“What spell did you use to keep us dry? _Impervius_?” Draco asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why didn’t you use it on yourself?” Draco asked, amused as Harry cast a spell to dry his glasses.

 

“Didn’t think of it,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

 

“Always thinking of others,” Draco said, shaking his head.

 

“You did very well, Harry,” Dumbledore said, preventing any comeback Harry might of made. “Do you think concentrating on something happy helped you to focus? Or having some choices of spells ready in your mind?”

 

“Yes, both,” Harry said. “It was like I was a little more settled. And when I was trying to do a spell, casting _Impervius_ with the rain just felt right. More so than the other two I had thought of.”

 

“Good. We shall keep practising it this way for now,” Dumbledore said in satisfaction.

 

Harry kept at it for a couple more hours, getting better and better at his ability to command the element while casting a related spell. Dumbledore wouldn’t let him practise fire yet, though. He wanted Harry to have completely mastered the other three before moving on to the one that tended to give Harry the most trouble when it came to control, which Draco thought was a wise idea. Fire was also the element that, due to the affinity, Harry could use most powerfully. Draco wouldn’t have admitted it, but the way Harry could command fire was almost frightening in its intensity at times.

 

When they got home, Harry was ravenous—for Draco. It was indeed a quickie—Harry had Draco worked up and worked over in very short order.

 

When they were finished, they ended up with Draco being the one propped up beside Harry this time, playing with his chest hair. Harry sighed in appreciation of how nice it felt as he tried to catch his breath.

 

“Were you trying to set some kind of speed record?” Draco asked, amusement lacing his voice.

 

“You did say you needed to get busy on the Apparition Hoops,” Harry reminded him, grinning.

 

Draco laughed. “Well, I do, but I hadn’t expected to get off before I was even fully undressed.” He plucked at the shirt he was still wearing and grinned.

 

“You seemed to do well enough keeping up,” Harry said lazily. “Give us a kiss.”

 

Draco leaned down, and Harry kissed him very slowly, very deeply. His hand lifted to hold Draco’s face.

 

“I love you,” he whispered against Draco’s lips. “You’re the happy thought I used today.”

 

Draco drew back, surprised. “Me?”

 

“Yes, I thought about you, about us. About how much I love you.”

 

“Oh. I’m…flattered,” Draco said.

 

“Nothing makes me happier than you,” Harry said seriously. “No matter what happens in this war, I want you to know that. The time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest of my life.”

 

“Harry—”

 

“Please let me say this.” Draco subsided, though he didn’t want to. “The prophecy says I must kill or be killed. I plan to be the one who does the killing, trust me. You give me an even bigger reason than ever to stay alive. I want every available moment of a very long life with you. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you—however long it might be.

 

“I know we’ve only been together a short time, but I know I love you. I didn’t need a lot of time to fall in love with you. I plan to stay in love with you, forever. But if something happens to me, I want you to be happy. I expect you to go on, to be happy without me. Because you’ll never really be without me. I know I’ll always be here…” he placed his hand on Draco’s heart “…because I know you love me, too. And if love can survive death, I’ll love you until the end of time.”

 

“Harry, I…” Draco couldn’t hold back the swell of tears and swiped at the few that fell. “What you do to me when you say such things. Everything you said—I feel exactly the same way. I can’t imagine not being with you. I can’t imagine not loving you. You make me happier than I ever dreamed of being. I love you more than I ever thought it would be possible for me to love someone.

 

“And I’m only going to say this once and then I don’t ever want to speak of it again: if something should happen to me, I’d want you to live and be happy too. I know you’d grieve, as I would for you, but I’d want you to find happiness again. Because I’ll always be with you here…” he mirrored Harry’s gesture and slid his hand over Harry’s heart “…as well.”

 

Tears spilled down Harry’s cheeks, and he pulled Draco in for one of those soft, slow kisses Draco loved so much. When they made love this time, there was no rush. It was slow and sweet and tender…a perfect physical expression of their love.

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

By the time the week was out, Harry had pretty much mastered being able to cast any spell Dumbledore asked of him while commanding an element. Keeping his love for Draco in his mind gave him the centre he’d needed to focus on maintaining the merge, controlling the magic, and casting a spell simultaneously.

 

On the sixth day of lessons, Dumbledore had Harry practice the skill with fire, following the same process he’d used to work up to casting any spell by starting with having a few fire-related spells ready in his mind before he merged. Once again, Harry struggled a little—the power of fire and Harry’s affinity for it made the pull to remain merged very strong. But he surmounted the hurdle after only a few tries. Harry had taken to this kind of magic like a duck to water—pleasing Dumbledore greatly.

 

After they had finished for the day, Harry asked, “Professor Dumbledore, I was wondering…could I ask Remus, Hermione, and Ron to come see me command the elements? I know they’re curious as to what I’ve been doing—Remus has been continuing to train with them, and Draco and I haven’t been there, so I told them you were helping me learn to use my power more effectively. But I’d like them to know what I’m truly doing. I’m not trying to show off—I just feel like I’m keeping a secret from them, and I don’t want to do that. But only if it’s all right with you. If you prefer I don’t tell or show them anything, I will respect that.”

 

Dumbledore considered this for a moment. “You risk letting your ability to do this kind of magic get out publicly.”

 

“I know, but I feel they are trustworthy, and if I ask them not to say anything, I don’t think they will.”

 

“What about Weasley?” Draco asked. “I’m not just saying this because I don’t like him, but is he really able to keep a secret? He doesn’t seem to be the type who always thinks before he speaks.”

 

Harry hesitated. “Yes, I think he can keep this to himself, if I stress to him how important it is. I don’t have the desire to share this with anyone else, much less publicly, but would it be really bad if others found out?”

 

Draco exchanged a glance with Dumbledore.

 

“You don’t like publicity and attention, Harry. If this were to get out…you’d be hounded. And…” Draco trailed off.

 

“And what?”

 

“Powerful wizards are often looked upon with some suspicion.”

 

“Suspicion?”

 

“History has shown us that the worst Dark wizards were also extremely powerful wizards,” Dumbledore explained. “Lighter wizards with power tend to keep it mostly to themselves; therefore people do not see that all powerful wizards are not Dark. It is an unenlightened view, but some people believe power will always corrupt. We must also consider the possibility that Voldemort could catch wind of your abilities. I do not think that would be wise.”

 

“Oh.” Harry blew out a breath. “So I shouldn’t say anything?”

 

Dumbledore gave it some thought. “You could have them swear an oath. In fact, if you truly wish to share what you can do with those closest to you—and I understand your desire to do so, Harry, as I have felt the same way—I believe an oath is necessary.”

 

“What do you think, Draco?” Harry asked.

 

“I agree with Professor Dumbledore,” Draco said immediately. “Even then, it makes me a little nervous, but I know your friends are important to you. You’ve told me how it has bothered you to keep what you are learning from them. So if you really feel the need to let them in on the knowledge of what you can do, I would definitely have them swear an oath.”

 

‘Especially Weasley,’ he added to himself.

 

Harry thought it over for a few minutes. He really wanted to share this with his friends—the people most important to him, other than Draco. He felt like what he could do, commanding the elements with his magic, had become such an important part of him in a very short amount of time. He didn’t want to hide such an integral part of himself from his friends forever.

 

“I do want to show them. This ability is part of who I am now. I don’t want to keep part of who I am from them. Can you do an oath, Professor?”

 

“I can and I will. Tomorrow morning?”

 

“Yes, that would be fine.”

 

“I would suggest keeping what you show them simple,” Dumbledore said, causing Draco to snort.

 

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that none of this is simple.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “No, it’s not. But in relative terms, Harry, perhaps something like you did the first day you learned to merge your magic. Something a bit light, if you take my meaning. Something you can control without any difficulty or much effort.” 

 

“All right,” Harry agreed “That makes sense.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

 

“It is your life, Harry, your skill. You have the right to share it with whomever you please.”

 

“We’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ll have them meet us here at, say, nine?”

 

“Nine is fine. See you then.” Dumbledore nodded and went back into the castle.

 

Harry and Draco headed to the gates to Apparate home. When they arrived, Harry headed to the kitchen to make himself a snack, as had become his habit (at least when he wasn’t immediately tossing Draco on the bed). Then he heard the noises above and realised people were there.

 

“I think they are here training,” Harry said, reversing direction to go up the stairs. Draco snagged his arm.

 

“You are sure about this?” he asked. “Absolutely sure? Your life will change if people find out how powerful you are.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said. “With the oath, I am sure.”

 

“Very well,” Draco said. “I’ll go upstairs and work on the Hoops.” He kissed Harry lightly. “I’ll see you later, love.”

 

Harry smiled. It was just an endearment, but Draco was slowly becoming a little more comfortable with them, and it gave Harry a little lift every time he used one. “See you later.”

 

Harry approached the training room door with a bit of caution. No point in getting hit with some spell by just walking in unexpectedly.

 

“Well, look who’s here!” Fred exclaimed jovially when he saw Harry. “It’s ol’ what’s-his-name!”

 

“It has been a terrible long time since I’ve seen this chap. Can’t quite recall his name either,” George rejoined.

 

“It’s Tom Riddle. I got a facelift,” Harry deadpanned.

 

The Weasley brothers burst out laughing and even Remus grinned. Hermione smiled a bit reluctantly.

 

“Care to join us?” Ron asked after they’d all settled down.

 

“Sure,” Harry said agreeably. He joined in the training and realised it felt good to get back into the routine of working with others and practising his skills. He knew he needed to keep his skills up. He couldn’t afford to get rusty when it came to preparing for battle.

 

After they’d finished, Fred and George headed back to work (they’d left the shop in the hands of one of their assistants). Ginny hadn’t come, so that left just Ron and Hermione. Harry stopped Remus before he could leave them.

 

“There’s something I’d like to talk with the three of you about, if you have time.”

 

“Of course,” Remus said. “What is it?”

 

“Well, I told you Dumbledore has been working with me the past week on using my power more effectively, which is true, but he’s really been teaching me something entirely new. I’ve really learned a lot. And I’d like to share with you what I’ve been doing.”

 

“I’ve been so curious,” Hermione admitted. She’d left the infirmary a few days ago, fully recovered. “What have you learned?”

 

“I’ve learnt a different way of using magic, I guess you could say,” Harry said. “It will be a lot easier to show you. Can you come to Hogwarts tomorrow morning at nine?”

 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. “Sure,” Ron said.

 

“I can as well,” Remus agreed.

 

“Excellent. Well, to give you some background, Dumbledore has taught me to use magic in a way that was used many years ago—he said in ancient times. You see, there’s magic in nature—in the four elements. He’s taught me how to command the elements. I merge my magic with the magic of the element, and I can command it.”

 

“Do you mean a call to the elements?” Hermione asked. “Like Wiccans do?”

 

“No, he said it wasn’t that. It’s different how we do it. We’re not calling the elements; we’re…becoming the elements. Sort of. My magic becomes part of the element’s magic and vice versa.” He sighed. “It’s very hard to explain. I think you’ll understand better when I show you tomorrow. I’m still learning how to do it, but I love it. It’s amazing.”

 

“I’m looking forward to seeing it,” Remus commented.

 

“There is one thing,” Harry said, looking apologetic. “I have to ask you to swear an oath not to tell anyone about this, about what I—and I guess Dumbledore, too—can do. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he added quickly. “It’s just very important that it not get out.”

 

Remus nodded slowly. “Great power comes with great responsibility. And one of those responsibilities is not allowing it to control you.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ron asked.

 

“Dumbledore said power can corrupt,” Harry said. “People think powerful wizards will easily become corrupt and use their power for ill, like Voldemort. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes. People can be very fearful of those known to have the ability to wield great power. I can see how Dumbledore would not want this happening to you. I don’t either. Power can also inspire awe. And people who inspire awe are often very lonely, as it can be difficult to know who is truly a friend and who is seeking to be close to you simply because of your power.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. Maybe I…maybe I shouldn’t said anything to you.”

 

“Harry, we _are_ your real friends, you know that,” Hermione said.

 

“Yeah, we knew you when you were just an ickle first-year,” Ron joked.

 

“But if it were to get out…” Harry said.

 

“Hence the reason for the oath,” Remus reminded him. “Dumbledore was wise to suggest it.”

 

“I’ll take the oath,” Hermione said.

 

“It’s fine with me, too,” Ron said.

 

“Thanks.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t want you to be offended by my asking you.”

 

“If it will help protect you, Harry, I don’t mind at all,” Hermione said.

 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow at Hogwarts at nine?”

 

Ron and Hermione agreed and said their goodbyes.

 

“You’re sure about this, Harry?” Remus asked after they’d left, echoing Draco’s earlier sentiment. “I know you don’t like the attention you get. And I know you’d be miserable if you felt people feared you or were awed by you. You’ve experienced some of both already in your life. The oath will help protect you, but it is you who will have to deal with the consequences, too, if one of us breaks the oath.”

 

Harry bit his lip. “I understand your concern. Draco is nervous about it, too. But this magic, this way of doing magic, it’s part of me now. It’s part of who I am. I can’t keep part of myself hidden away from everyone my whole life. I feel this need to share it with the people closest to me. I can’t explain why, I just do.”

 

“You are who you are, Harry,” Remus said smiling. “Do what you feel is right. I’m honoured to be included in this rather select group.”

 

“You’re family, Remus, of course you’d be included.”

 

“Thank you for that. What are you doing for the rest of the day? I assume Draco is up in his lab?”

 

“Yes, he is. I’m going to grab a little something to eat, as I’m starving, then I’m going to cook dinner. Any preferences?”

 

“There are some of Molly’s pasties in the cold box.”

 

“Good idea,” Harry said. “See you in a bit, then.”

 

Harry headed down to the kitchen to start the meal. Despite a few lingering nerves about word of his power getting out to the wizarding world—and possibly Voldemort—he was at peace with his decision to share what he could do with his friends. He was looking forward to tomorrow.

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

 

 

March was moving into April and the next day dawned bright and clear. Harry and Draco arrived at Hogwarts shortly before nine. Harry was fairly dancing with nerves now that it was almost show time.

 

“Settle down, Potter,” Draco said, trying to hide his amusement. “You’re making _me_ nervous, and I don’t have to do anything.”

 

“Only be my inspiration,” Harry laughed and grabbed Draco, surprising him. He moved them into a sort of twirling dance and kissed him.

 

Draco laughed with Harry. “What are you doing? You’ve lost what little mind you have.”

 

“I’m just happy. I haven’t had a flashback in over a week. I’m about to share something that means a lot to me with people who mean a lot to me. And I’m with the man I love. It puts me in a very good mood.”

 

It put Draco in a good mood _seeing_ Harry in such a good mood. When Harry kissed him again, Draco let him without worrying about who might be watching.

 

Harry stopped his foolishness, and they walked over to the west courtyard. Dumbledore arrived in just a few minutes, Ron, Hermione, and Remus—who had all Flooed in to Dumbledore’s office at his request—in tow.

 

“I explained a little about what you’d be doing today,” Dumbledore said after everyone had said hello.

 

“Oh, good,” Harry said. “I’m sure you explained it better than I did!”

 

“I’m sure seeing what you can do will be better explanation than either of us could give,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “Now, first, the oath.” He turned to the three visitors. After Dumbledore finished speaking the words of the solemn promise, Draco answered along with the others and bound himself by the same oath. Harry appeared startled.

 

He pulled Draco off to the side and put up a privacy spell. “You didn’t have to do that,” he hissed. “I wasn’t asking you to.”

 

“You should have,” Draco said mildly.

 

“But I trust you—completely,” Harry protested.

 

“I know you do. And I know you would have never asked, which is part of the reason I felt I needed to take the oath. It provides additional protection for you. But I took the oath for myself as much as for you. And it’s done now, so there’s no point in arguing about it.”

 

“Draco…”

 

“Harry…” Draco said back in the exact same vexed tone. “It’s done.”

 

“Fine,” Harry huffed out and started to turn away. Draco grabbed his wrist.

 

“Don’t be angry,” Draco said, hiding his exasperation and keeping his voice soft. “This is a day that should be enjoyable for you. If you want to be angry with me, though you have no cause to be, be angry later.”

 

Harry just looked at Draco for a moment. “I just don’t like the idea that you think I don’t trust you.”

 

“I don’t think that. I know you trust me just as I trust you. Now go have fun showing off for your friends.”

 

Harry smiled a little. “I’m not doing this to show off.”

 

“You should,” Draco retorted. He started walking back towards the others. “Come along, Wonder Boy.”

 

“As you wish, lover-boy,” Harry snickered. Draco shot him a look, but it was an amused one.

 

After they’d re-joined the group, Dumbledore went ahead as if nothing had happened at all.

 

“How have you planned to do this, Harry? Do you plan to do just one element or all four?”

 

“All four,” Harry said definitely. “I’ve got it in my head what I want to do.”

 

“Very well. Do you want me to start you with the meditation?”

 

“Let me try to do it myself first,” Harry decided. “I need more practise doing that.”

 

He turned to his audience, surprised that he no longer felt nervous or bashful about doing this. “Ready to see what a former ickle first-year has learnt to do?”

 

Ron grinned. “Can’t wait.”

 

“All right.” He got a mischievous expression on his face and then grabbed Draco and gave him a smacking kiss. “For luck,” he said, smiling ear-to-ear at the exasperated look on Draco’s face.

 

“Just get on with it, Potter,” Draco said dryly.

 

“Ok, yes. I’m going to do air first.” Harry took a deep breath, shook out his arms, and closed his eyes. He stood silently, much as Dumbledore had done that first day. After a moment, the radiance flickered along his skin. Then he did exactly as he had that first day: he inhaled deeply and then blew out his breath.

 

A light wind arose, and Draco watched the expressions of the three newcomers. He imagined the awe on their faces mirrored what had been on his the first time he’d seen Harry do this. The breeze kicked up a little and danced through the bushes before lifting Hermione’s hair high into the air into a sort of playful dance. Hermione gasped and tilted her head back to see the ends of her hair. The wind died down, and her hair fell back to her shoulders. She brushed at it automatically as she and the others stared at Harry.

 

Harry opened his eyes and the deep darkness was there as usual. When his eyes returned to their usual bright green, he looked at those watching him and smiled.

 

“Sweet Merlin, Harry,” Ron breathed. “How did you do that?”

 

“With my magic. I mixed my magic with the magic in the air and commanded it, just as I usually command my magic.”

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Remus said, speaking slowly and obviously impressed.

 

“Harry, I can hardly believe my eyes,” Hermione said, sounding suitably awed. “I never knew such magic was possible. I know you and Professor Dumbledore explained what you were going to do, but you were right. I really needed to see it.”

 

“Would you like to see earth?”

 

“Yes!” all three answered eagerly. Harry smiled.

 

Harry commanded the earth and grew flowers at his feet. Then he used his own magic to give one to everyone present. Dumbledore took a moment to explain how Harry was controlling his own magic while commanding the element by giving out the flowers. Then Harry prepared to command water.

 

“I need a volunteer for this one,” he said and looked at Draco, smiling a little at the extra meaning behind his next words. “Will you trust me?”

 

“Why do I have the feeling I’m about to get wet?” Draco asked wryly as he walked over to Harry. He gave Harry a little private smile while his back was to the others in acknowledgement of the trust comment.

 

“You’ll not get wet,” Harry assured him. He leaned in and whispered to him for a minute.

 

Draco nodded and then went to stand about a metre away from Harry. He conjured a large bowl and used the _Aguamenti_ charm to fill it with water. He set the bowl of water on the ground a little bit away from him. “I’m ready,” he said.

 

Harry gathered himself, taking a little extra time to put the spell he wanted to use firmly in his mind. He let go of his magic and became one with the magic of the water. He felt himself as the water. He commanded the water, and the water in the bowl flew upward in a great fountain. The water swayed and sparkled gently in the bright sunlight.

 

Then Draco rose into the air.

 

It was an unusual experience to float, Draco mused, especially when he was floating courtesy of one of the most powerful wizards alive. Harry didn’t lift him very high into the air, only high enough so that his head was approximately even with the top of the fountaining water. Draco reached out a hand and trailed it through the water. Then Harry lowered him gently to the ground. The water dropped back into the bowl with a small splash.

 

When Harry’s eyes cleared, he grinned at Draco, who grinned back at him. “That was pretty cool,” Draco said.

 

“Were you using _Wingardium Leviosa_ on Draco?” Hermione asked.

 

“Yes,” Harry said. “As Professor Dumbledore was explaining, I’ve been trying to master doing a spell while commanding an element—specifically a spell unrelated to the element.”

 

“You demonstrated excellent control, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

 

Harry smiled. “Thank you. I feel like I’m getting better at it.”

 

“I don’t know how you could get any better,” Ron said. “What you’re doing is…well, it’s brilliant.”

 

“It feels brilliant,” Harry said with a bright smile. “I wish I could share the feeling with you all. It feels like nothing I’ve ever felt or can begin to describe accurately. There are no words for it. It’s everything all at once—light and dark, warm and cool, soft and hard, wide and narrow. It’s simply amazing.”

 

“There’s one last element,” Remus said. “Fire.”

 

“That’s Harry’s element,” Draco said. “The one he’s most connected to.”

 

“You have an element you are more connected to than others?” Hermione asked. “Do all wizards?”

 

“Any wizard or witch who can command elements, such as Harry and myself, have some degree of affinity for one,” Dumbledore said. “Mine is water.” He smiled brightly. “I once caused a small flood, much to my teacher’s dismay.”

 

Harry was suddenly reminded of how the water in the destroyed Fountain of Magical Brethren at the Ministry of Magic had surged up, trapping Voldemort briefly in a prison of water. He suspected Dumbledore might have been commanding the element that night.

 

Harry laughed a little. “I’ll try not to call any firestorms today.”

 

Ron looked a little alarmed. “You could do that?”

 

“He could,” Dumbledore said complacently. “But his control of the command he holds over fire is very good. I have no doubt Harry will keep the fire he commands in check.”

 

“I will,” Harry said seriously. “But if you want to use the fire shields, you can.”

 

“You taught them fire shields?” Remus asked. “Advanced magic.” Then he looked at Harry and laughed at himself. “Of course, what Harry is doing here is even more advanced.”

 

“If it will make everyone more comfortable, Draco and I can cast the fire shields,” Dumbledore said.

 

Draco nodded and moved to stand next to Hermione. Remus indicated he could shield himself, so Dumbledore stepped closer to Ron.

 

Harry nodded. “All right then. Fire.”

 

He closed his eyes and pictured the fire within him. He felt the burn that brought no pain. He felt the warmth of the heat spread within him, and the lure of the beauty of the flames. He brought the fire up higher and higher in his mind before reaching inside with his magic. He felt the slide of the merge as his magic became one with the magic of the element. He felt himself become fire. He was fire—he was the heat, the beauty, the burn. And he commanded the fire.

 

A perfect circle of flames shot up out of the ground and surrounded Harry. The flames were fully three metres high, and Harry was completely lost to his audience’s sight—and oblivious to their stunned gasps. Draco’s heart leapt, and he took an involuntary step forward. He stopped himself—what could he possibly do? He had to trust Harry.

 

After a moment, the circular curtain of fire parted. An opening almost like a doorway appeared as the fire drew back a little to the left and a little to the right. Holding his hands out as if pushing the flames aside, Harry walked out of the ring of fire. His eyes were open again, as they always were when he commanded fire, and they looked almost black in the flickering firelight. He slowly brought his hands together as if he was going to clap, and the ring of fire closed back in on itself. Without looking back at the fire burning so brightly behind him, he pushed his hands down slowly. The fire dropped bit by bit until only the smallest of flames licked the ground. Then those flames died to embers, and the embers to nothingness. The ground that had held the fire was completely unmarked.

 

Harry blinked and brought himself back. He appeared genuinely surprised when his three friends burst into spontaneous applause. Draco couldn’t help himself—he clapped with them.

 

For the first time, Harry looked a little embarrassed.“Oh, stop it, you lot, please,” he entreated.

 

Harry walked over to the group, and for the first time since they’d started their relationship, Draco stepped up and kissed him publicly. He kept it light, but his eyes spoke volumes of pride.

 

“That was incredible,” he said, stepping back. “You scared the magic out of me, but it was incredible.”

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry said apologetically.

 

Draco waved it aside. “It’s all right. It just gave me a jolt to see you disappear behind a wall of fire.”

 

“I suppose that would have been a bit startling,” Harry agreed. He looked around at the others. “Well, show’s over. Did you like it? What do you think about commanding the elements?”

 

“ _Like_ it?” Ron asked disbelievingly. “I’ve never seen anything to rival it. To say I’m impressed—well, that would be one bloody big understatement.” He glanced at Dumbledore. “Sorry, Professor.”

 

“It was impressive,” Dumbledore agreed. “Though I had thought we’d agreed to keep things simple today.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, a little sheepishly. “I guess I got carried away with fire. It’s sort of like Quidditch—when I’m in the moment, I want to pull out all the stops.” He cocked his head and added thoughtfully, “It is sort of like Quidditch in how it makes me feel. It makes me feel free and light and happy.”

 

Ron’s jaw dropped. “It makes you feel the same as Quidditch?”

 

“Well, not exactly. It’s more just the feeling of freedom.”

 

Ron still looked doubtful, and Draco could sort of understand his point of view—next to the magic Harry had been doing, Quidditch paled in comparison.

 

“It was truly amazing what you did today, Harry,” Hermione said. “Thank you for showing us.” Turning to the Headmaster, she said, “I’m going to sound very predictable right now, but I don’t care. Are there books about this kind of magic? I’d love to learn more about it.”

 

Everyone chuckled, and Hermione smiled at herself.

 

“There are a few books,” Dumbledore said, “but most of the knowledge has been handed down in lore.” He looked at Harry. “After the war, I’ll be teaching Harry about the history, what I know of it. If you’d like to join in on those lessons, and Harry doesn’t mind, you may, Miss Granger.”

 

“Of course,” Harry agreed right away. “Then I’d have someone to help me remember everything when I get confused!”

 

Everyone chuckled at Harry’s comment, though Draco doubted Harry would have any trouble remembering or understanding any of what Dumbledore taught him about this. Harry was much brighter than he let on, and with his fascination with this new sort of magic, Draco knew he’d soak up every word Dumbledore said.

“Harry, do you wish to practise more today?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“Yes, of course, if you have time,” Harry said.

 

“I do.” He looked at the others. “I’m afraid Harry needs less of an audience to learn what I plan to teach him today. I am glad you were all able to come, and let Harry share this with you.”

 

“Thank you for letting us come,” Remus said, speaking for all of them. “I’ll see you at home, Harry, Draco.”

 

Ron and Hermione said their goodbyes, and the three of them left, Hermione and Ron chattering excitedly about what they’d seen.

 

“I went overboard with the fire, didn’t I?” Harry asked Dumbledore. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

“It’s quite all right. As you said, when performing, one always wants to show at his best. And you also demonstrated something new: your ability to control your physical body, other than your hands, while commanding the element: you walked. You haven’t done that before.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I guess I did, didn’t I? I didn’t even think about that.”

 

Draco marvelled at the fact that Harry had added another skill to his repertoire without even realising it. This was the man who hadn’t thought his power was anything special.

 

“Now, if you are ready to begin the next lesson, you shall need your wand.”

 

Dumbledore explained that when they added the protections to Hogwarts, Harry would need his wand to cast the spells. He soon had Harry learning to do simple spells with wand movements while commanding the element of air. It required even more conscious thought than casting a spell mentally while commanding the element, and Harry struggled at first, but slowly showed improvement.

 

They continued practising it into the afternoon and again the next day, with Dumbledore working Harry up to progressively more difficult spells. Once Harry got the hang of it, he did very well at it. Draco could tell Dumbledore was very pleased, and Draco was proud of Harry.

 

On the third morning of practicing this skill, Dumbledore told Harry to command fire and be prepared to cast another spell. When Harry asked which spell, Dumbledore told him to choose his own. As soon as Harry had commanded fire, however, Dumbledore levelled his wand and cast _Expelliarmus_ at Harry.

 

Instantly, a shield appeared in the air in front of Harry, and the spell bounced off harmlessly. Harry’s command of the fireball he had floating in the air didn’t waver. Draco was astounded. Harry brought himself back and stared at Dumbledore.

 

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do that,” he said, a bit breathlessly.

 

Dumbledore only smiled. “I knew you could do it.”

 

“I don’t believe I did it,” Harry admitted. “Did you see me do that, Draco?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said, chuckling a little at Harry’s disbelief. “It was pretty impressive.”

 

“You are ready, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, drawing both young men’s attention back to him.

 

Harry swallowed. “To add protection to the castle?”

 

“Yes. And after the protections are in place, I will challenge Lord Voldemort.”

 

Harry wet his lips. The time to kill or be killed was drawing close. Was he really ready?

 

He took a deep breath and looked at Draco. Draco just looked at him steadily and gave him a little nod. He could do this. Draco had faith in him. Dumbledore had faith in him. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

 

Harry squared his shoulders. “When do we put the protections on Hogwarts?”

 

“In two days’ time. I need to make some preparations.”

 

“All right. Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

“No, this part is for me.” Dumbledore smiled softly. “You _are_ ready, Harry. Do not doubt yourself. You have the skill to do what is necessary. You have the courage. You have the fortitude. Most importantly, you have the heart. You will be successful, Harry. I have absolutely no doubt.”

 

“I will be successful,” Harry said quietly, but his voice was strong. He glanced at Draco. “I have too much to live for not to be.”

 

 

**************************************************************************

 

 

Dumbledore called an Order meeting for that evening. Harry knew what was going to happen and felt a little subdued.

 

“Wear robes,” Draco said from behind him where he stood looking into his wardrobe.

 

“What?”

 

“Wear robes. You’ll feel like a wizard, and it will give you more confidence.”

 

Harry considered this. He did always feel more like a proper wizard when he wore robes. “I only have my school robes. Will they do?”

 

“You haven’t any other robes?” Draco asked, appalled. “Well, you’ll have to wear some of mine. Here.” He pulled a set out of his wardrobe and handed them to Harry.

 

“Won’t they be too long?”

 

“Not so much it will matter.”

 

Harry put them on. They were very nice robes—not as fancy as the ones he’d worn to the Yule Ball, but a step up from his everyday Hogwarts robes.

 

“You look very smart,” Draco said in approval. “Are you ready for this?”

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Harry said. He took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m ready,” he said with more confidence.

 

Draco smiled and then pulled Harry to him for a long, deep kiss.

 

“What was that for?” Harry asked, a bit dazed.

 

“Good luck, of course,” Draco said, a teasing smile on his face.

 

“Well, if that doesn’t bring me good luck, nothing will,” Harry decided. “Are you ready to go?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They Apparated to Hogwarts. Hermione took one look at Harry, and her eyes widened. “This is an important meeting, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said seriously. “Dumbledore will explain everything.”

 

“I’d like you to help with that, Harry,” Dumbledore said, coming up behind Harry.

 

“Sir?”

 

Dumbledore excused Harry and himself and walked a distance from the gathering Order. “The Order needs to hear from you, as you are the key to this plan.”

 

“But it’s your plan, you’re just as important as I am. And you’re the leader of the Order. It’s not my place.”

 

“It is your place. I may be the head of the Order, but you are its hope. And you are a leader, Harry. I think everyone recognises that except perhaps for you.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. If Dumbledore really felt he needed to do this, he would, though he disliked public speaking and having everyone’s eyes on him. “What part do you want me to tell them?”

 

Dumbledore explained how the meeting would go and then he and Harry walked over to the usual table where everyone else was seated. As he stood at the head of the table with Dumbledore, Harry was suddenly very glad he was wearing decent robes.

 

He caught Draco’s eye. To his surprise, Draco winked at him. It made Harry smile a little and eased some of the tension he felt.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore started. “We have something very important to discuss this evening. We will be making plans for what I strongly believe will be the final battle in this war.”

 

Murmuring went around the table, and people looked at one another.

 

“Please allow Harry and I to explain our plan fully before asking any questions. I will expect you to ask many questions after our explanation, as I am counting on you all to shore up the details of this plan.

 

“We will be laying a trap for Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The trap will be laid here, at Hogwarts, and will happen in a few days’ time. I will issue a challenge to Voldemort for him to meet me here, alone.”

 

Dumbledore held up a hand to stop the protests Harry could see were coming.

 

“Patience, please. Voldemort will not come alone, as he will suspect a trick of some kind. He and whoever comes with him will have to come onto the Hogwarts grounds and thus be blocked from Disapparating by the permanent Anti-Disapparition wards placed on Hogwarts. I will appear to be alone. I will not be.”

 

“I will be hidden at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” Harry said, trying to put a note of solid confidence in his voice. As he continued to speak, the more confident he actually felt. “There will be a small team with me who will be Disillusioned. As Voldemort approaches, I will do everything in my power to end him swiftly and finally.

 

“If I succeed on my first attempt, it is most likely the Death Eaters will retaliate. It is then that all of you will become involved, and hopefully some Aurors as well. At Dumbledore’s signal, you will Apparate onto the grounds of Hogwarts using the Apparition Hoops Draco invented. You will be given an opportunity to practice with them. You must be prepared to fight the moment you Apparate onto the grounds, for the Death Eaters will be attacking.

 

“If I do not succeed on my first attempt to defeat Voldemort, I will try again. The team with me will serve as a kind of defensive guard for me, so I can get near Voldemort. It will be up to all of you to keep the Death Eaters as busy as possible, so that I may get near enough to strike.”

 

“The moment the Death Eaters begin to attack, I will cast this signal.” Dumbledore lifted his wand and shot a shower of blue stars into the air. “Regardless of whether or not Harry is successful on his first attempt, the Death Eaters will fight. They will not be able to Disapparate, and unless I am disabled before I can do so, the gates will be locked.

 

“The most important thing is that Harry be given every opportunity to take down Voldemort if he is not able to kill him immediately. I feel strongly that this trap is our best chance for finally ending this war. We shall hold the home territory. We shall fight until we are victorious.”

 

Dumbledore fell silent, and the room remained quiet as everyone absorbed what they had been told.

 

“If you intend this to be the final battle, will I be fighting as an Order member or a Death Eater?” Snape eventually asked.

 

“That is up to you,” Dumbledore replied. “You should arrive with the other Death Eaters. If Voldemort is not killed immediately, you may wish to continue your ruse and fight as a Death Eater. If you feel the time is appropriate to show your true allegiance, you may do so.”

 

“If he does that, we’d lose him as a spy if Voldemort doesn’t die during the battle,” Tonks pointed out. “I think you should maintain your cover, Snape.”

 

A murmur of agreement went around the table. Snape nodded. “I feel it is the best course of action as well. As always, I shall seek to cause no harm to any of you and will do what I can to disable Death Eaters without giving myself away.”

 

“What about Hogwarts? The castle could be damaged, or what if the Death Eaters got inside?” Molly asked.

 

“We cannot let Hogwarts fall,” Kingsley agreed.

 

“Hogwarts shall not fall. New protections will be put into place to supplement those that have defended the castle for centuries.”

 

Harry was relieved Dumbledore didn’t say who would be involved in adding the protection to the castle. Of course, he never would have, as people would question Harry’s involvement, and Dumbledore didn’t want knowledge of Harry’s abilities getting out, but Harry was still glad. He hated being singled out.

 

There were many more questions, and Harry took turns with Dumbledore answering them. It was agreed they would all go out onto the grounds at the end of the meeting and select individual Apparition points in strategic locations. Everyone would be given an Apparition Hoop and have a chance to practise with it.

 

“Who’s on the team protecting Harry?” Remus finally asked.

 

Harry had been waiting for this question and took a hidden deep breath. He was about to ask the people he loved most to risk their lives to protect his.

 

“I have people in mind,” he said, “but I need to make it clear that no one is obligated to do this. If I am not able to kill Voldemort right away, anyone with me will be in a position of increased danger because once Voldemort figures out what is happening, he will come after me, hard, and we will be deliberately trying to get close to him. If I call your name and you do not wish to take on this responsibility, please do not hesitate to say so. You may speak with me privately later if you wish. No one, least of all me, will think less of you.” He looked around the table. “I have chosen people with whom I have trained, as I know we work well together as a team: Draco, Remus, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George.”

 

“I’m with you,” Ron said firmly.

 

“As are we,” Fred said, speaking for George as well.

 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Hermione said.

 

“Neither would I,” Remus said.

 

“We’ve already discussed this,” Draco said quietly. “I will not be leaving your side.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you, all of you. Hopefully I’ll be able to kill Voldemort right away, and I won’t need any special protection.”

 

Draco exchanged a glance with Remus. He knew they were thinking exactly the same thing: Harry would need protection from Death Eaters all seeking revenge on him after he killed Voldemort. Draco planned to speak with Remus and the other members of the team after the meeting about this.

 

After Harry’s team was announced, the group moved outside to strategize battle locations. Harry showed his team where they would be hiding in the forest when Voldemort arrived before moving off to help Dumbledore teach people to use the Apparition Hoops. When he beckoned for Draco to join him, Draco shook his head. “Those of us on this team need a minute to talk. I’ll be with you shortly.”

 

Harry nodded and walked away. Draco turned to the small group looking at him expectantly.

 

“Are you all really prepared to do this?”

 

“Yes,” Ron said, looking Draco straight in the eye. “We’re not going to let Harry down.”

 

“Good. As I see it, we’ll be Harry’s protective detail whether or not he kills Voldemort on the first go. If he does kill him immediately, the Death Eaters will be out for his blood.” Draco’s face morphed into one of steely determination. “They shall not have it.”

 

“No, they won’t,” Remus agreed. “How are we going to do this?”

 

“We surround him,” Ron said. “Keep him within a protective circle. We focus on defence, attacking only if needed. We keep him shielded.”

 

“We need at least one person clearing a path,” Fred pointed out. “There will have to be someone that helps get Harry close to Voldemort.”

 

“That will be me,” Draco said, his tone final and firm. “I’m the best suited for it. I’ve trained with these Death Eaters, and I know how they fight. And I’ll do whatever necessary to get them out of Harry’s way.”

 

“By ‘whatever necessary’, do you mean killing them?” Hermione asked.

 

Draco looked at her. “Only if there is no other choice. Contrary to what some of you may think, I’m not a killer like my father. I’ve killed before, but only out of necessity. And I will not hesitate to do it again if it means protecting Harry.”

 

“No one here thinks you are like Lucius,” Remus said quietly.

 

Draco’s gaze shifted to Ron before he could stop it.

 

Ron shook his head. “I don’t think you’re the same as your father.”

 

“Harry couldn’t love you if you were,” Hermione added.

 

Draco was a little surprised by the support, especially Weasley’s. But he was happy to have it and nodded.

 

“The rest of our plan will have to be somewhat flexible,” Remus pointed out. “We won’t know the exact situation we’ll be in, so we’ll have to work together, communicate the best we can. After Voldemort is dead, Harry will insist on joining in the general fighting. But as Draco said, we cannot allow him to fight alone.”

 

“He should use a glamour again,” George said. “If he insists on joining the battle after You-Know-Who is dead, I mean.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione said.

 

“You should too, Malfoy,” Fred added.

 

Draco nodded his agreement. Anything to lessen attention on Harry or himself was a brilliant idea as far as he was concerned.

 

“Malfoy—er, Draco, will you talk to Harry about all this? Let him know our plan?” Hermione asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then I think we should go practise with the Apparition Hoops with the others now. I know we won’t be Apparating in, but I think we should know how to use them in a pinch.”

 

The others agreed, and Draco walked with them over to a small stack of Hoops. He led them just outside the gates and set about teaching them all how to use them.

 

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

It was late by the time they went home. Draco steered Harry directly to their room. The tension was practically rolling off him in waves.

 

“Oh, God, it’s really happening, isn’t it?” Harry paced the room, his robes flapping about his legs. “We’re really going to do this. I’m really going to do this.”

 

“Yes, you are. We are. You’re not doing this alone, Harry. I’ll be with you. Remus will be with you, and your other friends will be as well. You must cast the spell to end Voldemort, but you will not go up against him alone.”

 

“I’m so torn about that,” Harry admitted. “If I could just do it alone, I wouldn’t be putting all of you in danger.”

 

“It’s not you putting us in danger,” Draco pointed out.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“I do, and I also know every person on your team would be standing with you even if you hadn’t asked. You know that as well.”

 

Harry sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. “I know. I know. I have amazing friends.” He looked at Draco. “I have an amazing boyfriend.”

 

Draco smiled a little, knowing Harry wanted him to. “You do, yes. And your amazing boyfriend needs to tell you about the plan we worked out for protecting you.”

 

“All right. Lay it on me.”

 

Draco did, and Harry nodded slowly when he was finished. “It sounds like a good plan. It will probably all go to hell in a handbasket because battles are so unpredictable, but it’s a good starting place.”

 

“It may all go to hell, but I’ll be right there in hell with you,” Draco said.

 

“I know you will. It frightens me as much as it reassures me.” Harry looked at Draco with his heart in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I love you? What it would do to me if something happened to you?”

 

“What do you think it would do to me if something happened to you?” Draco said, a little exasperated and trying to ignore the shaft of pain that lanced through him at the idea of anything happening to Harry. “And I do have a very good idea of how much you love me, because I love you just as much.”

 

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Draco, I’ve written a will. I gave a copy to Remus, and there’s another copy in the drawer of my bedside table.”

 

Draco stared at Harry. “You won’t need a will for hundred more years.”

 

“I hope not. But I wanted you to know. I’m leaving this house and some money to Remus. I’m trusting you to make sure that happens.” Harry had dreaded having this conversation with Draco, but now that he was, he was strangely calm. Almost detached. “There are a few other bequests, money and some things for the Weasleys and Hermione. But I’ve left the rest to you. I know you’ll do something good with it.”

 

When Draco just continued to stare at him, he said, “Is there anything I can do for you if… I would look for your mother. You have my word on that.”

 

“Neither of us is going to die.”

 

“I sincerely hope not. But Draco…”

 

“I’m leaving some money to Hogwarts,” Draco blurted out. “And to Remus. And to you. Half to you, half to my mother. If she’s dead, her share goes to you and Hogwarts.”

 

“Draco, I—”

 

Draco shook his head fiercely. “Those are revisions to my current will, but the paperwork hasn’t been witnessed; I had planned to ask Dumbledore to do that for me, but I think I’ll have Remus do mine as well. I wrote a will when I joined the Death Eaters, and it needed to be revised anyway since my father is dead. Those are the changes I’ve made.”

 

Harry watched Draco closely; he’d known this would be an uncomfortable discussion, but it seemed to really be putting Draco on edge.

 

“I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “I firmly believe none of what we’ve talked about here tonight will be of any matter when the war’s over. We’re both going to live. We’re going to grow old together. You need to know I believe that, Draco, believe it with all my heart.”

 

“You’d better,” Draco managed to say. His throat wanted to close. He couldn’t talk about this any longer, couldn’t think about living without Harry anymore.

 

“I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

 

“You didn’t think talking about you dying would upset me?” Draco snapped.

 

“I knew it would, but I’m still sorry for it.” Harry stepped closer to Draco. “We’re going to be all right. I’m going to kill Voldemort, and we’re going to live exactly as we please after that.”

 

Draco took Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. “I’m holding you to that.”

 

“We’ll be ok,” Harry said again, stroking Draco’s face with his hand.

 

Draco crushed his mouth to Harry’s and tried to drown the fear he felt.

 

Harry kissed Draco back with equal fervour. Draco wasn’t the only one who was scared.

 

They made love desperately; there was a wild edge to their passion, and the need for one another sliced at them both. Their hands were rough as they drove each other higher, mouths hot and demanding. Talons of pleasure ripped through Harry when he came, crying Draco’s name. He heard Draco call his own name and wrapped his arms around him as they fell together.

 

 

************************************************************************************

 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-one

 

 

Harry sat down on the sofa and immediately leaned into Draco for a kiss. Draco kissed him back, but when he would have ended the kiss, Harry took his face in his hands and deepened it. Draco allowed it for a few minutes before he pulled away.

 

“The others are due here any minute for training,” he said. “We should go to the training room.”

 

“We should stay here and snog,” Harry corrected him and tried to kiss Draco again.

 

Draco avoided him. “And if they get here and come looking for us, then what?”

 

Harry ran his hand teasingly up and down Draco’s thigh, getting a little closer to his crotch each time. “They’ll get a show.”

 

“I’m not having them walk in on us.”

 

Harry kissed the palm of Draco’s hand when he started to rise and pulled him back down. “Just one more kiss then.”

 

Draco hesitated. It was one of their last days together before the battle. They’d just made love that morning, but…

 

“One kiss,” he said.

 

He didn’t trust the gleam that appeared in Harry’s eye and was startled when Harry abruptly straddled him. Harry took his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, one that took Draco’s breath away.

 

“We can’t—”

 

“If they come down the corridor, we’ll hear them before they get here. Shut up and kiss me.”

 

Harry put a hand behind Draco’s head and held him in place while he slanted his mouth over his again. Draco gave up and gave in to the kiss. He didn’t want to waste any time he could have with Harry.

 

They had been snogging rather enthusiastically for some time when they heard Ron exclaim, “Argh! My bleeding eyes!”

 

Draco immediately broke the kiss and was mortified to see Granger and Weasley standing in the doorway. Harry just grinned at them. “Hey guys.”

 

Hermione’s lips twitched. “I’d apologise for being late, but I don’t think you minded.”

 

“Not at all,” Harry said, smiling brightly.

 

“Get off of me, Potter.”

 

Harry gave Draco one last smacking kiss before he got up. He needed to adjust himself, but could only hope the untucked shirt he was wearing hid any evidence of his arousal.

 

Draco brushed at his hair and fiddled with his shirt. Hermione could see he was embarrassed and thought it was rather cute. She decided to cut him some slack.

 

“We’ll see you in the training room,” she said, taking a laughing Ron’s hand and leading him away.

 

“I hate you, Potter,” Draco grumbled as he stood up and rearranged himself. Harry’d gotten him half-hard, though seeing Weasley and Granger had pretty much taken care of that problem.

 

Harry grinned unrepentantly. “That’s so sweet.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

 

Harry grabbed his arm as he walked by. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

 

Draco sighed. “I love you too, Harry Potter.”

 

Harry smiled and led the way to the training room.

 

Harry’s team trained together for a couple of hours and then called a break. When the others headed to the kitchen, Harry held Draco back.

 

“I bet we could run upstairs for a quickie, and they’d never know.”

 

Draco stared at him. “I think you coming in with mussed hair, red lips, and a sex-sleepy smile on your face would give us away.”

 

“I guess Remus might smell us, too,” Harry said regretfully. The full moon was in less than a week.

 

“He probably already has,” Draco said under his breath and headed to the kitchen before he threw caution to the wind and took Harry up on his offer.

 

They trained for a while longer and then discussed some plans for the battle. When Hermione asked Harry which spell he planned to use on Voldemort, Harry hedged.

 

“I have a few in mind. I’ll decide depending on the situation,” he said. He was a bit surprised Hermione didn’t push further, but he suspected she understood why he hadn’t told her outright. He appreciated her restraint in not trying to dissuade him from using Dark magic. 

 

When they all finally left, Harry practically dragged Draco up the stairs to their room. He pushed him against the door and started devouring him the moment they were inside. This time Draco didn’t try to push him away—he pulled him closer and met Harry passion for passion.

 

“Want you in me,” Draco demanded when Harry took his lips and teeth down his throat.

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry chuckled. He used his wand to cast a spell first at Draco, then at himself. Their clothes disappeared.

 

Draco was very startled. “Where are my clothes? And where the hell did you learn that?”

 

Harry glanced around and then gestured to a lopsided stack of semi-folded clothes. “Guess I’ll have to work on the folding the clothes neatly part. I asked Fred and George—I figured they might know a spell to get clothes off faster for when we’re in a hurry.” He latched back on to Draco’s neck, and Draco hummed his pleasure.

 

“Teach it to me later.”

 

“Sure,” Harry said against Draco’s skin. He flicked his tongue against Draco’s nipple, and Draco groaned and pressed Harry’s head closer. Merlin, he loved it when Harry did that.

 

Harry sucked and bit lightly at one pebbled nipple then the other, leaving them both red and hard. He worked Draco’s cock with his hand while his mouth continued to pleasure Draco and had Draco making satisfactory little noises above him.

 

When he dropped to his knees, he looked up at Draco, a wicked expression on his face. He palmed Draco’s sack and rolled it gently. As Draco stared down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, Harry kissed the head once before licking a stripe firmly up the underside of Draco’s prick. Draco groaned, and his eyes closed as his head fell back against the door.

 

Harry squeezed his cock lightly. “No. I want you to watch.”

 

Draco opened his eyes and looked back down his body. It would certainly be no hardship to watch. His breath hitched a little as Harry flicked his tongue over the head before dipping it into the slit. Harry sucked lightly, just at the sensitive head, his lips pushing the foreskin back. Draco inhaled sharply and fisted his hands against the door.

 

When Harry dropped down and took him slowly into his mouth, Draco groaned and let his hands move to Harry’s hair. Harry was using his tongue and gentle suction to deliberately drive him mad. Harry’s tongue pressed hard against that sensitive spot just below the head, and Draco’s eyes started to flutter closed.

 

“Open your eyes,” Harry said. “Or I’ll stop.”

 

Draco’s eyes flew open. “You’re making me crazy.”

 

Harry grinned and licked his cock. “I know. I want you crazy. I want you begging.” 

 

“Will you just get on it with it?”

 

Harry took Draco back into his mouth and began to suck him harder. Draco guided his head a little, his hands clenched in Harry’s hair. He felt Harry’s fingers press against his perineum and then slide back to his entrance. One slick finger pushed inside, and Draco moaned and spread his legs a little.

 

“You want this, don’t you?” Harry whispered as he continued to mouth around the base of Draco’s cock.

 

“Yes. I want it. Want you.”

 

“Turn around.”

 

Draco gladly complied. He braced his hands against the door as two fingers breached him and began to stretch him. He groaned and pushed back against them, already wanting more.

 

Harry leaned over Draco and began sucking at the base of his neck. Draco groaned and dropped his forehead to the door. Harry was going to mark him like he had before.

 

Harry switched to three fingers and scraped his teeth over the red mark on Draco’s neck. Draco tensed in anticipation.

 

“You want it?” Harry’s breath wafted over his damp flesh and made Draco shudder.

 

“Yes, yes, please,” Draco gasped.

 

“You want me to mark you? Mark you as mine?”

 

“Yes. Mark me. I’m yours. You know I’m yours.”

 

Harry abruptly bit down and began fucking Draco hard and fast with his fingers. Draco cried out and pressed his forehead against the door. After a moment, Harry used his tongue to soothe the place he’d bitten as he withdrew his fingers, leaving Draco panting and wanting more. He cast the cleansing spell, and Draco heard the sound of lube being applied. He had the delicious feeling he was about to get it. The idea turned him on, just as this reversal of his wall sex fantasy did.

 

He felt Harry drag his cock along the cleft of his arse and pushed back against him. “Do it,” he demanded.

 

Harry thrust in the first couple of inches, and Draco bent his knees to take more. As Harry continued to push himself inside, he asked Draco, “Are you mine? Mine for always?”

 

“Yes. I’m yours. Always.”

 

Harry began thrusting, slowly building up speed. Draco moaned. “Yes, like that, make me yours, oh, fuck, oh fuck, yes.”

 

Harry changed the angle and managed to nail Draco’s sweet spot. Draco cried out again and fisted his cock. He wanted to come. He could feel that tingle and wanted to come.

 

“Tell me I’m yours,” Harry demanded, his voice a bit breathy as he fucked Draco harder. “Tell me.” 

 

“Oh, gods, yes,” Draco moaned as Harry continued to take him harder and harder. “Mine. You’re mine. All mine. Only mine. Forever.” He grunted as Harry began slamming into him. “I love you. Oh fuck, yes, yes, I love you!”

 

He came hard, his hand working his erection as Harry continued to work his hole. He heard Harry groan, “I love you,” as he jerked and then Draco felt the warmth of Harry’s ejaculate inside him.

 

Sated, Harry stayed pressed against Draco, pinning him to the door as he caught his breath. Draco didn’t mind—he liked the feeling of Harry warm and heavy against his body.

 

They eventually made it to the bed and collapsed. “God, that was good,” Harry said sleepily.

 

Draco leaned over Harry and tangled his fingers in his chest hair. “You are mine, you know. I’ve very selfish about what’s mine.”

 

Harry pulled Draco down for a kiss, sliding his hand into his tousled hair. “You can be as selfish as you want, because I’m just as selfish when it comes to you. You’re mine.”

 

He pulled Draco down to lie against him. “Sleep for a bit. You wore me out.”

 

Draco smiled against Harry’s chest. The sleepy feeling that always followed sex made him feel warm, as did Harry’s arms around him, and he closed his eyes and drifted away.

 

 

***************************************************************

 

 

“We’re going to Hogwarts tomorrow morning,” Harry told Remus at dinner. “I’m going to help Dumbledore add some protection to the castle.”

 

Remus’ brows rose. “I see.” Remus was amazed—in a very short time, Harry had mastered his significant power enough to help the greatest wizard alive add protections to the most important wizarding building in Britain. “Is that why he’s had you learning to command the elements with your magic?”

 

“Yes. Apparently it’s something I need to be able to do to help him.”

 

“Good luck then. I hope it goes well.”

 

“He’ll issue the challenge to Voldemort after we’re done,” Harry said, looking at Draco.

 

“You’re ready,” Draco said.

 

“We’re ready,” Remus added. “All of us are. You’re not in this alone. And if such a thing is possible, your parents and Sirius will be with you in spirit as well.”

 

Harry nodded. “I know I’m not alone. I’m grateful not to be alone. I’ve faced him alone before, and I’d rather not do it that way again.”The graveyard flashed through Harry’s mind. That was the worst time he’d faced Voldemort completely alone.

 

They cleaned up from dinner, and Draco led Harry upstairs to their room right away. He needed him. Again. There wasn’t much time left before what was hopefully going to be the final battle, and Draco felt an urgency to be with Harry. He didn’t like the urgency—it made him nervous. He wouldn’t let himself think that these could be his last days with Harry. He couldn’t think that. He had to believe they’d have many, many days together. But the urgency was still there, and the need to have Harry was strong.

 

When he had Harry on his hands and knees, he finally returned the favour of a rim job. Harry moaned and pressed himself into Draco as Draco sucked and licked and ran his tongue over the furled hole. Draco found himself more turned on by giving a rim job than he’d expected. Harry was right—there was something a little dirty about it that made it all the more titillating. When he spread Harry’s cheeks and pushed his tongue into him, Harry began cursing and whining. “Oh, God, Draco, that’s…oh, fuck. So good. So wet. So fucking good.”

 

He began stroking himself and whimpered a little in disappointment when Draco stopped. When he felt Draco’s cock teasing at his entrance, he stilled in anticipation.

 

Draco pushed just the head of his cock inside and relished the tight squeeze. He pushed in just a little and then he slowly dragged himself back before repeating the movement. The tightness of Harry there was delicious.

 

The way the thick head of Draco’s cock kept tugging at his hole whenever he pulled back was incredible. Harry shivered and fisted himself in time with Draco’s slow movements. Draco’d never done this before, and it was making Harry a little crazy. When Harry clenched his muscles, Draco gasped.

 

“Take me now,” Harry panted. “I need all of you inside me. Need you to fill me up.” His voice deepened and he spoke slowly, deliberately. “Use that magnificent cock to open me wide. I know you want to see me, see my hole stretched so tight and wide around you. I know you like it. I like knowing you’re watching when my tight hole gobbles you up, takes you deep.”

 

They’d never really engaged in dirty talk, but Harry’s words sent a flush of heat over Draco’s skin. When Harry lowered his upper body to the mattress and then reached back to spread his cheeks wide, completely exposing himself to Draco, Draco swallowed hard. 

 

“I’m greedy for you, want to swallow you whole,” Harry said, his voice low and seductive as Draco began to push farther inside. Draco watched and felt his pulse race as Harry did indeed swallow his cock. Harry flexed around him, and Draco inhaled sharply.

 

“Want you to fill me up. Fill me up with your cock, that perfect fat prick. Then fill me up with your come,” Harry said, still in that rough voice. “I want to be filled by you, want to feel that hot, wet warmth. I want to know that fucking me, watching me getting my arse fucked by you gets you off. Makes you cream. Makes you call my name as I bring you off with my tight, greedy little hole stretched so wide around you.”

 

Draco pulled back and thrust back all the way in, as deep as he could. Harry was making him so hot he was going to come before he even got to really do any of that fucking.

 

“Oh, God, you feel so good,” Harry moaned when Draco was fully seated. “Love how you’re thick, that you can stretch me so wide. Pull out, love, all the way out, and then open me up again. I love it when you do that. It burns a little, and I love it.”

 

Draco did as Harry asked, slowly withdrawing. He watched Harry’s hole close and then lined up again and slowly, very slowly pushed back in. He watched in aroused fascination as Harry stretched wider and wider to take him in. He felt his nipples tighten and shuddered as he slid all the way in, Harry’s spread cheeks letting him see every bit of how Harry ate him so beautifully.

 

Harry was moaning and shifting restlessly. He let go of his cheeks and fisted his hands in the sheets. “You know how I want it now. You know how you want to take me,” he whispered, his voice sexy and rough as he pushed back against Draco. “You know I want you deep. You know I want you _hard_. Want to feel every inch of you, want to—”

 

Draco pulled back and thrust back in hard. Harry cried out and felt his cock leak a little. Draco started giving it to him, really giving it to him, and the pleasure was incredible. He stroked himself, the pre-come letting his hand slide easily, and he grunted when Draco slammed back in after pulling all the way out. God, he loved a good, hard fuck. He loved it slow and easy too, but he sometimes he was in the mood for hard, and this was one of those times. He continued saying the filthiest things he could think of and was rewarded when Draco pounded his arse with several quick, hard jabs.

 

Draco shifted position and spread Harry’s legs wider with his knees. Harry shouted when he thrust back in, and Draco knew he’d hit his prostate. He kept thrusting hard and fast and both felt and heard Harry come seconds before that burst of sheer pleasure ripped through his groin. Harry clenched around him and moaned loudly. He pressed himself hard into Harry, calling out Harry’s name and shaking a little as he filled him, filled him up, just as Harry had said.

 

Harry collapsed to the bed, pulling free of Draco. Then Draco did something he’d never done before. He leaned down, spread Harry’s cheeks, and licked over his entrance and up the cleft of his arse. Harry jerked. He was very sensitive there right now, and the feel of Draco’s tongue was almost too much to take. Almost. “Oh, fuck, Draco,” he groaned in appreciation.

 

Draco cleaned them both up, making Harry roll over slightly to finish the job. Then he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes. He drifted a bit until he felt Harry move closer to him, felt his breath on his lips. He kissed him back slowly, languidly, and then sighed. When Harry laid his head on his chest, he wrapped an arm around him.

 

“Who would have thought the Chosen One had such a filthy mouth,” Draco drawled, his voice lazy and thick with sleep.

 

“Mmmm…” Harry sighed, completely content. “You like it?”

 

“What do you think?” Draco said dryly and was jostled a little when Harry chuckled.

 

“I think it made you fucking hot. That rim job made me hot. I can see why you react the way you do when I do it to you. Feels really good.” He shifted and stretched his back a little. The position he’d been in had left it a little stiff. “Liked what you did when you were just putting in the head and pulling it out really slow.”

 

“Did you? Felt good to me, too.” Draco yawned. “Can we stop talking now, and go to sleep?”

 

Harry laughed again. “Absolutely. Good night. I love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” Draco mumbled sleepily and was out like a light.

 

Harry shifted to lie beside Draco and then drifted for a bit more, warm and sated. He liked the afterglow. It was peaceful and relaxing. He let his mind wander. He’d be doing the protective spells on the castle in the morning. Dumbledore seemed to have no doubt he could do it, and Harry didn’t really doubt he could either. He was still getting used to his power, but since he’d started learning to command the elements with his magic, he’d finally accepted what he’d been told so many times: he was a powerful wizard. A very powerful wizard. When he commanded the elements, he felt that power within himself. He felt powerful. Almost invincible, which scared him a little. He wasn’t invincible. He could die. He could die in a couple of days when they sprung the trap on Voldemort.

 

One of them had to die. Harry had a lot of reasons he wanted to be the one who lived. He wanted to see what would happen in the rest of his life. He wanted to be with his friends and share laughs. He wanted Draco. He wanted so much more time with Draco. The idea of not getting that time made his blood run cold.

 

He was feeling the pressure. He tried not to let it show, but he knew, better than most, what could happen if Voldemort killed him. Voldemort could take over the wizarding world. By failing, he would not only lose his own life, he’d be condemning the world he loved so much, the people he loved so much, to a hellish existence of fear and darkness. He couldn’t let that happen. He _wouldn’t_ let that happen.

 

Snuggling closer to Draco, he cleared his mind of morbid thoughts. He didn’t need any bad dreams tonight. He had important work to do tomorrow and even more important work to do the day after that. He had to be strong. He had to have faith. He had to live.

 

 

*************************************************************************

 

 

Harry and Draco stood outside the massive front doors to the castle with Dumbledore. Harry was nervous, but he kept a tight rein on those nerves. He knew he could do this.

 

“We will be adding two more layers to the protections already in place,” Dumbledore said. “The first is a general spell to repel destructive magic, which will help keep the physical castle safe from damage.

 

“You will command the element of air; I will command earth. You must keep a tight command. You must concentrate and control that command while you cast the protective spell. The spell itself requires a lot power. That power must be focussed.

 

“I will begin the spell—as soon as I start speaking, count one and then cast. Our voices should overlap but not be in unison. Repeat the spell three times. Speak slowly and clearly. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. The wand movements are this: sweep right then left. Return to centre then sweep up then down. Return to centre. Keep your movement very fluid. Repeat the movements as you chant the spell. Practise with me.”

 

Draco watched as Dumbledore took Harry though the movements. The pace of the movements was deliberate but not overly slow. Harry picked it up quickly.

 

“Repeat the incantation after me: _Protego, servo, repello_.”

 

Harry repeated the simple incantation exactly as Dumbledore had given it. He repeated it three times. He did the wand movements one more time and then said the incantation again.

 

He nodded at Dumbledore. “I have it.”

 

“Good. You will feel magic build as we cast the spell three times. You will feel it inside you, outside you, in the air you command. It will be stronger than what you have felt before when commanding the elements. You must be prepared for this.

 

“Draco, because of magnitude of this power, I want you to ground Harry. Harry’s power to love is one of his greatest strengths. Because he loves you, he is linked to you and your energy. Stand behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. I must warn you, being in physical contact with someone commanding an element and casting this type of magic, you may feel a backlash of sorts. You need to be braced and ready for it.”

 

Draco nodded. “I will be.”

 

“Are you ready, Harry?”

 

Harry took a deep breath and nodded firmly. “Yes, I am.”

 

Dumbledore stood centred in front of the left-hand door and motioned to Harry to stand to his right, centred in front of the right-hand door. Draco stepped up and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. He tried to prepare himself mentally and physically for what he might experience as the two most powerful wizards alive cast an extremely powerful spell, but as he hadn’t any idea of what to expect, he figured he’d have to be ready for anything.

 

Harry rolled his shoulders and mentally prepared himself to do the most powerful magic he’d ever performed. Would probably ever perform. He calmed his mind and evened his breath. He felt the nerves wanting to twitch to life inside him and decided he’d use them to his advantage. He visualised taking them in hand and absorbing their energy. He closed his eyes and reached for his magic.

 

“Command the air,” Dumbledore ordered.

 

Harry brought the feeling of air into his mind, the coolness, the freshness. He felt the air move in and out of his lungs as he slowed his breathing. He let himself become air. He was air. He was everywhere, but a part of his mind could feel Draco. He felt himself move, flow, and dip. His magic had merged, and he was air. He commanded what he was. He commanded air.

 

He brought the wind, a steady gentle wind. Draco felt it ruffle his hair, and it teased the robes Harry had worn to feel like a proper wizard again. When he felt the earth shudder under his feet, he was startled. Dumbledore was commanding the earth. After a few moments more, Dumbledore lifted his wand and began the movements of the spell. His voice was strong and authoritative as he incanted.

 

 _“Protego, servo, repello,”_ Harry repeated, just a moment after Dumbledore had started. His voice was equally as commanding. The wind rose, and the earth trembled again. The radiance along both wizards’ skin was stronger than usual, and Draco was mesmerised.

 

The moment Dumbledore started the second repetition of the incantation, the earth vibrated more strongly, and Draco had to plant his feet. The wind whipped higher and stronger as Harry cast a second time. Draco felt the hairs on his arms stand up as magic seemed to _pop_ inside him. A blue glow began to emanate from the castle. It began to pulse. Then a layer of yellow appeared. It, too, pulsed and grew steadily brighter.

 

Draco was nearly knocked off his feet when Dumbledore started his third and final incantation. His voice was pitched over the wind Harry commanded, and when Harry cast his final spell, he was almost shouting. Even his voice seemed different—deeper and with a ring of authority Draco had never heard him use.

 

A green layer of light appeared around the castle, and the brightness of the three colours was almost blinding. Red flared up into a fourth and final layer as Harry spoke the last _repello,_ and Draco had to shut his eyes and turn his head away for a moment. It was like looking into the sun. The jolt of magic that travelled from Harry into his arms and spread throughout his body was electrifying.

 

Draco heard the earth rumble as it shifted under his feet. It was accompanied by the howl of the wind, now blowing in great gusts that were bending the trees of the forest. Draco gripped Harry’s shoulders tightly, as much for balance as to try and keep Harry grounded.

 

The power that whipped higher and higher in Harry as he cast the spell three times was enormous and heady. He felt as though he might burst from it. He let the power of his magic out the only way he could: by blending it with the magic of the air. In a distant part of himself he could feel the wind, feel the earth moving under his feet, feel Draco’s presence, but it was like a kind of foggy echo. He was the air. He was power. He was the light surrounding the castle. He was magic. He was _magic_. 

 

A great burst of that magic blasted through him, and he felt himself flare up and then slide away.

 

Draco watched, awed, as the lights around the castle seemed to collapse in on themselves before slowly fading and winking out of existence.

 

The wind died abruptly, and the earth stilled. Dumbledore and Harry stood as statues, their wands still pointed towards the castle. As the moment stretched on, Draco wondered if he should do something, if this was normal. Then Dumbledore jerked and lowered his arm. When he turned, his eyes were black, and something moved behind them that gave Draco the chills.

 

“Bring him back,” Dumbledore said, his voice strangely hollow. “Bring Harry back. You know how.”

 

Draco hadn’t the slightest idea what Dumbledore wanted him to do. He moved to stand in front of Harry and gripped his shoulders again. “Harry!” he said urgently, giving him a little shake. “You have to come back now. Do you hear me? It’s Draco. You have to come back to me now.”

 

Harry didn’t respond. His eyes were blown, and there was that same eerie movement in their depths. Draco shuddered. Where the fuck had Harry gone? What had Dumbledore gotten him into?

 

Draco took Harry’s face in his hands. Everything but Harry faded into the background. “Harry! You must hear me. I love you. You have to come back to me. I love you, do you hear me? _I love you!”_

 

He followed instinct and crushed his mouth to Harry’s, prying his lips open with his tongue and kissing him deeply. He threw every ounce of love he had for the man into the kiss.

 

When he felt Harry start to respond, Draco nearly collapsed in relief. He felt Harry’s hands grip his hips in a strong grasp. He kept kissing Harry, so thankful he wasn’t lost to him, he didn’t know what else to do.

 

“Draco,” Harry gasped as he finally pulled back. Draco was relieved to see his eyes were back to normal. Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s and panted. “Oh, God, Draco.”

 

“Are you all right?” Draco ran his hands over Harry’s face, down to his shoulders and back up again. “Tell me you’re all right.”

 

“I think so. Or I will be.” Harry’s voice was raspy. “I think I need to sit down.”

 

His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. Draco tried to grab him but was only partly successful in breaking his fall. Harry stretched out on his back, his arms splayed wide, eyes closed, in a picture of utter exhaustion.

 

Draco glanced over and saw Dumbledore was on the ground, too, and his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t want to leave Harry, but he couldn’t just leave the old man lying there without checking on him.

 

He crawled over and placed his hand on the headmaster’s shoulder and shook it a little. “Professor Dumbledore? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

 

Dumbledore opened his eyes, and Draco was glad to see they were back to normal as well. “I’m fine. Just a wee bit tired. How’s Harry?”

 

“I think he’s the same as you.” Draco looked over at Harry, who hadn’t moved a muscle.

 

Dumbledore fumbled in the pocket of his robes and pulled out two small gold bottles. “Restoratives,” he said, his voice a little weak. “Make Harry drink it.”

 

Draco helped the man into a sitting position first, so Dumbledore could swallow the potion without choking. Dumbledore shuddered a little, and then laid back down, complete exhaustion evident in every movement of his body.

 

Draco crawled back over to Harry and shook him. “Harry, wake up. You have to take this potion.”

 

“Mmm?”

 

Draco pulled on Harry’s arm until Harry’s eyes opened and he cooperated enough for Draco to get him into an upright position. As he had that night in the Shrieking Shack, he pressed the bottle to Harry’s lips. “I need you to drink this for me, Harry.”

 

Harry obediently opened his mouth and drank the potion. His eyes shot open from their half-closed state, and he shook his head sharply. “Wow. What is that?”

 

“Some kind of restorative.”

 

“It’s like Pepper-Up Potion, but a thousand times stronger. Is there steam coming out of my ears?”

 

Draco laughed a little, happy to see Harry was more alert. “No.”

 

“Feels like there should be.” He shook his head again as if to clear it and then looked around. “Dumbledore!”

 

“He’s all right,” Draco assured him. “He took the same potion. I think he’s just tired.”

 

Dumbledore stirred and looked over at Harry. “Are you all right, Harry?”

 

“I’m much better after taking that potion. Are you all right?”

 

Dumbledore sat up slowly. “Yes. Takes an old man like me a little more time to recover than a youngster such as you.”

 

Harry sighed in relief. He stared at the Headmaster, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe. “Professor, that was…what was that?”

 

Dumbledore smiled a little. “That was magic, Harry. Powerful, ancient magic.”

 

“I wish you’d warned me the both of you were going to collapse when it was over,” Draco said, unable to keep a note of irritation out of his voice. “Scared the magic out of me.”

 

“I apologise,” Dumbledore said. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

 

Draco blew out a breath. His nerves were shot and his mind blown by the powerful magic he’d witnessed. He couldn’t imagine how Harry was feeling.

 

Harry let him know how he was feeling. “I’m dying of thirst. And I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

 

Draco conjured two glasses and filled them both with water. He gave one to Harry and the other to Dumbledore. Both men smiled gratefully and drank thirstily.

 

“That’s better,” Harry said after drinking a second glass. “Now can we eat?”

 

Draco laughed. Harry seemed back to normal—gone was the powerful wizard who had commanded an element of nature and literally staggered Draco with the force of his magic. Now he was just a hungry bloke whose only interest was filling his belly.

 

Draco helped Harry to his feet and then gave Dumbledore a hand up. They both seemed a little wobbly on their feet at first, especially the older man, and Draco steadied him with a hand on his elbow.

 

“I shall have the house-elves fix us a nice luncheon,” Dumbledore said as they headed up the stairs into the castle.

 

“I need meat,” Harry said. “Lots of it.”

 

They entered the Great Hall, and Dumbledore called for one of the house-elves and gave him instructions. In a very short time, large plates with huge portions of food appeared on the table. Harry grabbed a fork and began shovelling roast beef into his mouth.

 

“Slow down, Potter, that’s disgusting,” Draco scolded him.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said a bit sheepishly after he’d swallowed a rather large mouthful. He speared a potato and ate it a little more slowly.

 

Harry and Dumbledore both ate heartily. Draco finished well before them and just marvelled at how much food Harry was stuffing into his body. When portions of chocolate cake appeared, Harry took a forkful and sighed in appreciation.

 

“All of this is so much better than the food I can cook,” he said. “I’ve tried out a couple of new recipes since I’ve been living at Grimmauld, but nothing this good.”

 

Draco scooped whipped cream onto his cake. “I think you cook well. I like what you make.”

 

Harry smiled at him. “That’s kind of you.”

 

Dumbledore smiled at the both of them. “I’m glad you were here, Draco. I could have brought Harry back, but it would have been more difficult in the state I was in.” His eyes twinkled. “I would have used quite a different method of course.”

 

Harry snorted and Draco tried not to be embarrassed. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d been kissing Harry rather passionately in front of the school headmaster.

Harry winked at Draco. “It certainly was a enjoyable way to come back from…wherever I was. Or whatever I was. I think I was more a what than a where, if that makes sense.” He looked at Dumbledore. “This is going to sound mad, but I felt like I was the magic.”

 

“You are always the magic,” Dumbledore said. “We all are. You just sank deeper into it than you ever have before. You became more united with it than you ever have before.”

 

“It’s quite the experience,” Harry said. “I thought commanding the elements was powerful, but this…this was well beyond.”

 

“You gave me a couple of jolts,” Draco put in. “And you, sir, you almost knocked me off my feet with the way the earth was shaking. I bet there are reports of an earthquake in the _Prophet_ tomorrow.”

 

“A small one, perhaps,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I imagine there were some rather strong gusts of wind as well.”

 

“Yes, there were,” Draco agreed. He cocked his head. “Are you actually going to try to do another spell today?”

 

“I think we shall have to wait until tomorrow,” Dumbledore said, looking apologetic. “The first spell took a bit more out of me than I expected. I am not as young as I was the last time I did a spell even remotely close to that one.”

 

“Of course, sir,” Harry said immediately. “Take whatever time you need. I’d rather be at my best before trying to do that again myself. Shall we meet you here at the same time tomorrow?”

 

“Yes, that will be fine.” Dumbledore stood. “I wish you both a good afternoon, and I thank you, Harry, for what you helped do today. You will forever be a part of the magic of Hogwarts now. Something else to add to your legacy.”

 

Harry blinked. “Wow. A part of Hogwarts. That’s amazing. I’m…honoured.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “As is Hogwarts.” He walked away, perhaps a bit more slowly than he might otherwise.

 

Harry looked at Draco, smiling slowly. “I’m still a bit hungry.”

 

“That’s impossible, you—” Draco broke off as he took Harry’s meaning. He smiled slyly. “Well, then, I guess we’d best be getting home.”

 

Harry pulled Draco to his feet. “I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he whispered, his breath hot against Draco’s ear.

 

Draco’s smile was wicked. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

 

**************************************************************************************

 

 

“What will the spell we cast today do as a protection?” Harry asked when they met Dumbledore outside the castle again next morning.

 

“It is a spell to block Marked Death Eaters from entering the building.”

 

Harry blinked at Dumbledore. “What? But what about Draco?”

 

“And Professor Snape,” Draco reminded him.

 

Snape wasn’t Harry’s concern; Draco was. “You mean he’d never be able to return to Hogwarts? He wouldn’t be able to finish school?”

 

Dumbledore looked at Harry and his eyes conveyed far more than his words ever could. “We can remove this spell after the war. But it takes two to do the magic.”

 

Harry and Draco both instantly took Dumbledore’s meaning: should either Harry or the headmaster die, the spell would remain in place.

 

“But…what if…it would mean…”

 

“It would mean I’d finish my education another way,” Draco said matter-of-factly, pulling out the Malfoy air of detachedness; it was difficult to do so, as he rarely used it anymore. “An independent study, perhaps, and take my N.E.W.T.s at the Ministry.”

 

“But it’s not fair!” Harry protested. “And what about Professor Snape? He works at Hogwarts. He lives at Hogwarts.”

 

“Professor Snape is aware of and accepts the situation,” Dumbledore said. “Part of the reason we must challenge Tom directly after this final protection is laid is so that it will not look suspicious that Severus does not return to Hogwarts. This is an important defence, Harry.”

 

Harry sighed. He knew it was an important protection—a critical one, what with the final battle set to happen here. He couldn’t imagine not having Draco with him at Hogwarts, though. It was a pretty selfish thought, but he couldn’t help it. He decided then and there that if—Merlin forbid—something should happen to Dumbledore, Harry would find a way to remove the spell himself. And if he couldn’t, he wouldn’t return to Hogwarts either.

 

“Harry, I’m not the noble self-sacrificing type, as everyone well knows—that’s your role—but the chance I might not be able to go into the castle again is a very small price to pay for being able to keep the Death Eaters out.” Draco didn’t like the idea of never being able to step foot again in the place he considered a kind of home, but he accepted it as a possibility.

 

“Fine,” Harry said reluctantly. He studied Draco’s face and could tell the Slytherin was more troubled by the idea of being rejected by Hogwarts than he was letting on, but let it drop. “Tell me about this spell.”

 

Dumbledore explained the wand movements and taught Harry the incantation: _Obsaepio Stigma Malus._

 

‘Block the mark of evil,’ Draco translated in his head, looking down at his left arm where his own mark of evil lay hidden under his robes.

 

Harry and Dumbledore practised the spell until they were both satisfied Harry knew it. Then Dumbledore turned to Draco. “I am hoping you will be able to provide some help with this spell.”

 

“Of course. What do you need?”

 

“Some of your blood, taken from your Dark Mark. I have some of Professor Snape’s if you do not wish to do this, but I thought that due to your link to Harry, having yours in addition to Professor Snape’s would be a wise decision.”

 

Draco rolled up his sleeve, exposing the ugly tattoo. If the damned thing could be of some good for something, he was all for it. He was a bit leery about blood magic, but if he couldn’t trust Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, who could he trust?

 

Dumbledore produced a small, intricately carved silver knife and a phial. At Draco’s nod, he sliced a shallow cut into the head of the skull marring Draco’s skin and collected a few drops of Draco’s blood, mixing it with the small amount of blood already in the phial.

 

 

Harry passed his hand over the Mark and healed the cut. He didn’t like seeing Draco being cut, even if it was for a magical ritual of some kind.

 

“Dip the tip of your wand in the blood,” Dumbledore instructed Harry. Harry’s eyes widened, but he did as he was told. Dumbledore followed suit.

 

“Are we using air and earth again?” Harry asked.

 

“Do you think you can handle fire?” Dumbledore asked, his face grave.

 

Harry thought carefully before answering. Fire was his element. He’d mastered the command of it, and even though the magic he would be doing would probably be as heady and muscular as the magic he’d done yesterday, he was confident he could handle fire.

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding firmly. “I can and I will.”

 

“Very well. I will command water. I suggest a ring around the castle, Harry.”

 

“All right.” 

 

Dumbledore gave Harry and Draco the same instructions and warnings as he had the previous day. When they were positioned as they had been yesterday, Dumbledore told Harry to command fire.

 

Harry brought fire into his mind. The warmth, the colours, the movement, the light. The heat with no burn. He felt the fire come to life inside him and slowly drew it upwards. He reached into the flames as he always did and pulled on the power that lay within. He felt his magic stir, felt it breathe. His magic melded with the fire from deep within the earth. He was the fire. He felt himself flicker and surge with movement as he allowed himself to be flames that rose higher. He was the fire. He commanded what he was. He commanded the fire.

 

Eyes dark and fathoms deep, he spread his hands, and just as he had done when his friends had gathered to watch him command the elements, he brought a ring of fire shooting up from the ground. The ring didn’t surround him though—it surrounded the castle. It reached about half the height of the castle and burned in bright oranges, reds, and yellows.

 

Great sheets of water began sluicing down the walls of the castle about the same time the fire arose. Draco could see no source for the water—it was just as if Hogwarts had been moved under an invisible waterfall and now the water flowed smoothly over all of its edges and around its towers.

 

The power of it all took his breath away. He’d never seen anything to match the beauty, the sheer _enormity_ of what Harry and Dumbledore were doing. His hands tightened on Harry’s shoulders as he heard Dumbledore start the incantation.

 

Harry’s voice chimed in a beat behind Dumbledore’s, and his wand swished as he started the spell. A bright golden light shone through the water still running down the castle walls, and the castle glowed, the shimmer of the light dancing beneath the water. When they cast the spell the second time, the water seemed to flow faster—the rush of it was louder, and Draco suddenly realised that the water was no longer just flowing down the walls—it was flowing _up_ the walls as well. He felt a surge of power run through him as the flames Harry commanded rose higher and began to twist like sinewy snakes.

 

The golden glow still enveloped the castle, and it brightened as Dumbledore started the third incantation. The shot of power that ricocheted through him courtesy of his connection to Harry had Draco staggering—literally and figuratively. The water was rushing in endless circles now, moving up and down and around simultaneously. The fire leapt and seemed to kiss the sky as Harry shouted the final words of the spell. Draco wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought he saw eyes glinting out of the flames; it unnerved him.

 

The gold light spread and grew until it was a large transparent bubble around the castle. Draco realised Harry was trembling and tried to focus on him, doing what he could to ground him. The golden bubble abruptly burst, and the wave of magic that shot outward and buffeted Draco nearly knocked him off his feet. Both Harry and Dumbledore swayed, and their feet moved reflexively to restore their balance.

 

Draco’s eyes widened, and he felt his blood run cold as the gold light swirled into a tight knot and slowly darkened until it was pitch black. The knot of black light writhed and twisted slowly into an all-too-familiar shape: the Dark Mark. It hovered in front of the doors of the castle for a moment. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of it—there was something Dark about it, and not just in colour. There was a pulse of…something…in the air, and Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. When the Dark Mark sank into the wood of the massive doors, Draco felt a quick, sharp pain in his tattoo and knew the spell had worked.

 

As he watched, the water slowed, and the roar of it died down. The flames drew down and calmed. In a very short time, the water and the fire were gone as if they had never been there.

 

Draco stood almost as still as Harry and Dumbledore, still caught up in the power of the magic. Then he snapped himself out of his daze. He needed to be there for Harry. He waited a moment to see if Dumbledore or Harry would come out of their trances. He was moving to face Harry when he took a great, gasping breath. His eyes were the deep dark black still, and once again Draco saw something moving in the background. It gave him the shivers.

 

He glanced at Dumbledore and saw the man had opened his eyes and lowered his wand. Good, he was back as well. He watched anxiously as Harry’s eyes slowly changed into the familiar green, and his gaze focussed on his face.

 

“Draco,” he gasped. “Oh, shit.” He started to sink to the ground again, but Draco was prepared this time and helped to lower him more gently. When he saw Dumbledore teeter out of the corner of his eye, he leapt to the old man’s side and caught him before he fully collapsed. He laid him gently on the ground and watched for a moment to make sure the man was breathing. Dumbledore’s hand twitched and then reached into the pocket of his robe, bringing out the bottles of restorative again.

 

Draco helped him drink one bottle, and then fed the next to Harry. Harry had the same shocking alertness flow through him, and he blinked his eyes rapidly.

 

“What a ride,” he breathed, glancing toward Dumbledore, satisfied to see the man sitting upright. “Oh, hell, what a ride.”

 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed softly. Draco conjured glasses and filled them water as he had the day before. Both wizards took them gratefully.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked Harry, and then looked at Dumbledore. “Are both of you all right?’

 

“Yes, I will be fine shortly,” Dumbledore assured him.

 

“I’m good,” Harry said brightly. “Whatever that potion is, wow, does it work! I feel great.”

 

Draco eyed him. “I suppose you’re hungry again?”

 

“Ravenous,” Harry said, giving Draco a little wink, letting him know there were two types of appetites he needed sated. Draco’s lips twitched. Draco helped him to his feet, but when he would have stepped over to do the same for the headmaster, Harry took his arm.

 

“Sorry, but I just have to—” His mouth covered Draco’s, and he had to hold back a moan. The taste of him…it both fed and soothed the need inside him. He felt Draco stiffen, but he didn’t pull away. Draco gradually relaxed into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip Harry’s shoulders. Harry could have kept kissing Draco all day, but Draco pulled back after a minute.

 

“That’s enough for now,” Draco said under his breath. “We have an audience.”

 

Harry smiled slowly. “I know.”

 

Then Harry’s grin flashed, bright and quick, and he laughed. “Sweet Merlin, that was _incredible!_ ” He grabbed Draco’s hands and twirled him in a circle, much to Draco’s dismay.

 

“Potter! Why must I always be asking you to control yourself?”

 

“Because you’re used to control, and I always upset your sense of order,” Harry retorted. He laughed again.

 

He looked at Dumbledore, who had managed to get to his feet and was smiling at them with a twinkle in his eye. “That magic! There are no words! Draco, the power, the freedom, the sheer…magnitude of it all. It’s like nothing else in this world. I could become addicted to it, I think.”

 

“Some do,” Dumbledore said, “which is why this sort of magic is best done with a partner and infrequently. The pull of powerful magic is strong, Harry, and so must be your will against the lure of that pull.”

 

Harry sobered. “I understand. It’s what happens with Dark wizards like Voldemort and Grindelwald, isn’t it? They are seduced, and give in to the pull of power. But I can’t imagine there could be any Dark magic greater than what we just did here. What we did here—it has to be the strongest of all.”

 

“I know of no stronger,” Dumbledore agreed.

 

“Let’s eat,” Harry said starting towards the castle door.

 

Draco held back and said quietly, “I can’t go in, Harry. Remember?”

 

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and just looked at Draco.

 

After a tense moment, Harry said, “We’ll go home and eat.”

 

“I’ll have the house-elves pack you a meal, so you won’t have to prepare anything,” Dumbledore said. He headed towards the castle but then paused. “I’m wondering if I can impose on you, Draco, to test the protection.”

 

“What will it do to him?” Harry asked sharply. “It won’t harm him, will it?”

 

“No, it will simply prevent him from entering.”

 

“I think it worked. When the spell was finished, I felt something in my Mark.” He moved to the steps. When he reached out to take the handle of the door, his hand met an invisible wall. “I can’t touch the door. This is as far as I can go.”

 

Draco felt a twinge of sadness. He’d never imagined himself barred from Hogwarts. He ruthlessly pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter.

 

“Harry, perhaps you could test the spell from yesterday,” Dumbledore suggested. “Cast something destructive at the castle.”

 

“All right.” Harry lifted his wand. _“Confringo!”_ He thought he might have seen a bit of a shimmer where the spell would have hit, but otherwise nothing happened.

 

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “I shall issue the challenge to Tom shortly. We will be ready for tomorrow.” He went inside the castle to see about some food as if he hadn’t just announced the most crucial event of Harry’s life would happen in mere hours.

 

As Harry and Draco waited outside, Harry said, “I’m sorry about this.”

 

“It’s all right. You’ll take it off after the war.”

 

“We will, yes. As soon as possible.”

 

Dumbledore returned after a few minutes and handed Harry a large basket. “Enjoy,” he said. “I shall contact you after I have heard from Severus regarding the challenge.”

 

“All right.” Harry took a deep breath. He looked down at the basket and felt a little like he was being given his last meal. He shoved that thought aside. After thanking Dumbledore for the food, they departed and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

 

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

Draco was glad they were both young and healthy because they engaged in some kind of sexual activity several more times that day. Harry was full of energy from the magic, but Draco thought he was also feeling a little of what he was: a need to be with the man he loved. He’d caught a look of longing mixed with a bit of desperation on Harry’s face a couple of times, though it had quickly disappeared as soon as Harry saw he was watching. They didn’t speak of it.

 

He was feeling rather lethargic at dinner, though he was starving. Harry was packing away the steak and kidney pie Remus had made as well.

 

The Floo roared to life, and Dumbledore‘s head appeared in the green flames.

 

“Good evening. The challenge has been issued for two o’clock, as we discussed. Severus has just returned and tells me Voldemort was rather intrigued. I believe there is no doubt he will show up tomorrow.” He paused. “Are you ready, Harry?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said firmly, shoving away the butterflies that tried to spring to life in his stomach. “Tomorrow will be Voldemort’s last day on earth.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “It will, yes. See you tomorrow at noon.”

 

The three nodded, and Dumbledore’s head vanished.

 

“This is it,” Harry said, squaring his shoulders. “By this time tomorrow, Voldemort will be dead, and we’ll all be free of him at last.” He hoped he sounded confident. He was confident that he could kill Voldemort; he knew he had the skill, the power, the drive—but there was still this small wriggle of fear within him that he would fail, and the wizarding world would be plunged into Darkness. And his life would end.

 

 

***************************************************************************

 

 

They undressed each other slowly as they kissed. Hands were gentle and there was no rush. When they were finally naked, Harry led Draco to the bed and pulled him down to lie beside him.

 

“I love you,” he murmured against Draco’s neck. “I love you so much.”

 

Draco sighed as Harry’s lips travelled to his jaw. “I love you just as much.”

 

There was a slow build of passion, a steady climb. By unspoken agreement they made love just as they had their first time, with Draco braced above Harry as he slowly thrust inside him. Draco leaned down and took Harry’s mouth in a slow, sensual kiss he hoped expressed how deep his love ran for Harry. Harry sighed and Draco felt his hand begin to speed up against his stomach where he was stroking himself. He continued kissing Harry until he came.

 

Harry tore his mouth away, gasping, and his head arched back into the pillow as a few tears leaked from his eyes. “I love you, Draco. I love you.”

 

Draco came moments later, professing his love for Harry. When they lay together, warm and sleepy, Harry whispered, “We’ll do this again tomorrow night.”

 

“We will. We’ll celebrate.”

 

“Yes. Celebrate. Together.”

 

 

*******************************************************************************

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-two

 

Draco gathered the final batch of Apparition Hoops. He’d managed to make fifteen more, so there would be enough for some of the Aurors. 

His nerves were absolutely shot. He couldn’t sit still—he, Draco Malfoy, master of controlling himself, his thoughts, and his emotions, was about to come out of his skin. Conversely, Harry was almost eerily calm. He had been since he’d awoken Draco in the morning with a blowjob that led into one of those hard, intense fucks Harry liked so much. Ever since then Harry had been very quiet, very contained. It was as if he and Draco had switched personalities. 

They were about to leave for Hogwarts. It was only eleven, but Harry wanted to go earlier. Draco figured they might as well—perhaps a change of scenery would do him some good as well. 

When they went out in the backyard to Apparate, Harry stood silently for a moment, looking at what had become his home. There was a stillness inside him, a place of absolute quiet. As if at a distance, he could feel his nerves wanting to jangle, but that quiet was holding them back. He knew with one hundred per cent certainly that today was the day he would meet his destiny. One way or another, it would be the final battle for him. He was confident he’d emerge as the victor. He was sure he would return to this house. He had no doubt in his mind that he would survive, and live with his love. 

“We’ll be back here to celebrate tonight,” he said quietly. 

“We will,” Draco agreed, trying to sound as confident as Harry. He didn’t need to add to Harry’s stress by falling apart or being weak. 

Harry smiled a little, and then kissed Draco softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Harry’s smile for Draco was warm, but that smile slowly grew cold, and his eyes glittered. “Let’s go kick Voldemort’s arse.”

Draco couldn’t help himself—he smiled. “I’ll hold your coat.”

Harry grinned back at him, fiercely, then Disapparated. 

Dumbledore didn’t seem at all surprised that they had turned up early—he must have actually been expecting them, as he met them at the gates. 

Dumbledore seemed as serene as ever as he greeted them. If he was at all anxious, he didn’t show it.

“I want to do some of the elemental magic,” Harry said, surprising Draco. “I feel a need to, like it will help me as a preparation today.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. He turned and led them to their usual practice space in the west courtyard.

Harry commanded all of the elements in turn. It seemed Dumbledore agreed with Harry’s use of commanding the elements as preparation, for he took some time to command all four as well. Draco just stood back, watching in awe. He felt privileged to be watching two of the most powerful wizards on earth perform such magic. Voldemort hadn’t just marked Harry as his equal—Harry had surpassed him. With such skill and power at Harry’s disposal, Voldemort didn’t stand a chance. 

The others arrived at noon. In deference to the fact that Draco could no longer enter the castle, the Order and several Aurors gathered on the Quidditch pitch. The nervous energy was almost tangible as the stands buzzed with chatter. Harry stood off to the side with Draco, just quietly watching. Eventually, his team wandered over to join them. The twins were as serious as anyone had ever seen them. Ron looked rather grim, and Hermione appeared to be covering nerves with sheer determination. Remus was quiet as usual, but his face was set. He looked ready to fight. Harry realised Remus might be out for a little revenge himself—Voldemort’s side had killed three of his best friends. 

“Nagini is a threat,” Harry said abruptly. “Immediately after I have killed Voldemort—or at least made my first attempt—whoever has a shot at her while we are hidden in the forest should take it. Use a spell that does not emit any light. I think the desiccation spell would be best, as it isn’t dramatic, and only the people standing close to her would notice anything at first. As she dies, it may also serve as a distraction.” 

The others all nodded. They’d all learnt the spell—even Hermione—so they were all prepared to use it. 

“If you aren’t successful the first time, you’re to focus on shielding yourself,” Draco reminded Harry. “Try not to get caught up in any fighting—it will only waste time.” He glanced around at the group. “That pretty much goes for everyone.”

“I think we should forget any other spells besides strong shields and Stunners,” Ron said. “We need the shields, obviously, and Stunners are the fastest way to take an opponent down, so we can keep moving if necessary.”

“Agreed,” Remus said. “It will also reduce reaction time in casting.”

Draco thought the idea was a good one—for the most part. He’d be keeping a deadlier spell in his repertoire to be used if necessary. 

They discussed plans a little more, but eventually there wasn’t much left to say. Hermione pulled Ron aside for a private conversation a distance away from where everyone was gathered in the stands. When Harry saw them embrace, his heart clutched. He didn’t know how he’d stand it if he lost one of them. If he lost anyone close to him. 

Draco rested a hand on the small of Harry’s back. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. Everything had been said. But the physical touch comforted Harry, and he drew strength from it. Draco was of the mind that the considerable magical power that allowed Harry to command elements was the “power the Dark Lord knows not” from the prophecy, but Dumbledore still believed it was Harry’s capacity to love. Whatever the prophecy was referring to, Harry knew he had both of those powers. And he planned to use every bit of power from any possible source to defeat Voldemort.

A small shower of green sparks got everyone’s attention, and they gathered in a group before Dumbledore. 

“We are all here of our own free will,” he said in a strong voice that resonated with conviction. “We are here because we have the courage to stand up against evil and do everything possible to protect our world. We are on the side of Light. We are on the side of right. We are on the side that must prevail. With all of us here now, with the courage and conviction we share, we are on the side that shall prevail.

“It is now time for most of us here to move to the train station in Hogsmeade. Please pick up your Apparition Hoops as you leave. Remember, you must be prepared to fight the moment you Apparate in—have your wand at the ready, and a defensive spell on the tip of your tongue. Are there any questions?”

The stands remained silent, and Dumbledore nodded. “Be safe, my friends, and fight well.”

The crowd dispersed, with all but Harry’s team leaving. Harry caught both Molly and Arthur looking back over their shoulders at their three sons; he hoped they would all be happily reunited after this was all over.

Harry turned to Dumbledore and exchanged a long, last look. 

“You are ready,” Dumbledore said quietly, but with authority.

“I am,” Harry responded with firm confidence. He looked to his team. “We are.”

They made their way to the Forbidden Forest and hid themselves in dense brush not far from the front gates. They were positioned approximately halfway between the gates and where Dumbledore would stand—closest to where they hoped Voldemort might stand.

 

As the minutes ticked by, and it grew closer to two o’clock, everyone Disillusioned themselves, and Harry got his Cloak ready. He felt Draco’s hand on his shoulder and pulled the Cloak over them both. He removed the spell keeping Draco from his sight.

 

He leaned in and kissed Draco softly. Draco took it a bit deeper, but kept it short. Now that it was time, he was calm and collected. The nerves were there, but were so tightly controlled he was barely aware of them. He was ready. He was prepared to do anything and everything to keep both Harry and himself alive.

 

“I love you. Stay safe,” Harry whispered.

 

“If there was ever a time for you to be the Boy Who Lived, it is now,” Draco said, and Harry smiled a little. “Keep the man I love safe.”

 

Harry nodded and watched as Draco vanished under the Disillusionment spell. The Cloak lifted and then settled back into place. He heard Hermione whisper a Silencing spell and thought it was a good idea.

 

Dumbledore stood tall on the road several metres away from the open gates, the great stone castle rising in the distance at his back. He wore purple, the colour of power and royalty. Harry heard a trill and looked up in time to see Fawkes swoop down to rest on Dumbledore’s shoulder. Dumbledore stroked his feathers and then Fawkes lifted away, flying up into the Forbidden Forest where Harry imagined he roosted to see what happened.

 

Harry saw movement and sucked in a breath as the pain started in his scar. He was glad he’d previously taken a pain potion; together with Occlumency, the pain wasn’t so bad. Voldemort was walking up to the gates from the road, a contingent of Death Eaters surrounding him, and a larger crowd trailing behind him.

 

He had come. He had taken the bait. Now it was time to spring the trap.

Voldemort paused briefly before stepping through the gates. He scanned the area, taking in the wide expanse of lawn that held no person other than Dumbledore. He motioned with his hand, and his front guard led the way onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Nagini slithered behind him.

 

The front guard moved aside, and Voldemort stepped forward to stand three or four metres from Dumbledore. He said nothing; he simply gazed around the grounds again. Then he lifted his wand and cast the spell to end Disillusionment charms. He swept his wand in a wide arc, and Harry realised he was spreading the effects of the spell over a large area. He glanced over and could see his friends; they were hastily Disillusioning themselves again.

 

“Truly alone, Dumbledore?” Voldemort said softly as he smiled unpleasantly. “You are an even bigger fool than I thought.”

 

“Are you so frightened of one old man that you cannot meet me alone, Tom?”

 

Voldemort’s snake-like eyes narrowed. “I am not so much a fool as to not suspect a trap. Where is the rest of your pathetic group? Where is the one you protect by keeping him hidden away? Where is Harry Potter?”

 

“Harry Potter is not your concern right now; I am. Will you face me, Tom, man-to-man, wizard-to-wizard?”

 

During this conversation, Harry had been trying to get a clear shot at Voldemort. Unfortunately, Death Eaters flanked him on three sides. He needed to move to be able to get at least a partial angle of the front of Voldemort’s body.

 

He cast a Silencing charm on himself and stuck out a hand under the Clock. He motioned that he was going to move to the left. When he felt Draco’s hand on the back of his shoulder, he knew the others understood.

 

Harry moved quietly and cautiously; his friends were moving so silently behind him he couldn’t hear them. It was a bit eerie. He stopped and peered through a screen of brush; he thought the angle would work to hit Voldemort. Of course, he was now even farther away from the Dark wizard. His aim would have to be very true.

 

After much discussion with Draco, he’d decided upon the spell he’d most likely use against Voldemort in this setting. The minimal wand movements were part of the reason they’d chosen it. He parted the Cloak just enough to poke out his wand. Staring at the monster who’d taken so much from him—his family, his childhood—Harry took a deep breath and focussed his power. Then he whispered, _“Astrangulo!”_

 

Harry cursed to himself as the Death Eater who’d been partially blocking his full view of Voldemort suddenly clutched at his throat. He’d missed.

 

Voldemort and the other Death Eaters reacted in shock. As the man fell to his knees, choking, Harry took aim and tried again. Voldemort would never know it, but the fact he dropped the red shield over himself a split second after Harry cast saved his life.

 

Voldemort’s shock and need to protect himself first and foremost gave Dumbledore the time he needed to shoot the blue stars high into the air from his wand. Within seconds, people were Apparating in, and all hell broke loose.

 

“Dammit,” Harry said under his breath.

 

He felt Draco behind him and heard him whisper. “I got Nagini.”

 

Harry took his attention away from Voldemort long enough to see the enormous snake writhing and twisting on the ground. He wished he had time to see her fully desiccate, but his focus had to be Voldemort—and Voldemort was moving swiftly into the Forbidden Forest with a small group of Death Eaters guarding him. He’d obviously figured out he couldn’t Apparate or leave via the locked gates, so he was going to hide. Harry wasn’t surprised by his cowardice, but it disgusted him. It also might make his job a little harder.

 

“Follow him,” Harry hissed. He stuck out his hand again so his team would know where he was, and he felt them move into position around him. Harry reached out, and his hand connected with Draco’s back. “Let’s go.”

 

They snaked through the trees awkwardly—it was very difficult to move as an invisible group of seven people.

 

“Stop,” he heard Hermione whisper.

 

“Everyone wiggle one foot,” she said. A tiny yellow light appeared where he could tell Hermione was standing by the sound of her voice. Another light appeared, then another until there were six tiny lights, apparently on one of each person’s feet. Harry stuck his foot out under the Cloak, and a yellow light appeared. He didn’t know if it could be seen from under the Cloak or not, but he figured having one couldn’t hurt.

 

“Brilliant,” he whispered. “Let’s move—we can’t let him get too far ahead of us.”

 

They moved more quickly after that with less fumbling around. For a moment Harry lost sight of the small group of Death Eaters moving farther into the trees, but Draco apparently didn’t, as he kept going until Harry saw them again. Voldemort eventually stopped, and Harry’s team took up a position a fair distance from him. They could all hear him cursing and ranting about not being able to Disapparate and how much he despised Dumbledore.

 

Harry was considering how to make his next attempt when he heard someone coming through the trees to his left. He turned and saw the Death Eater he hated more than any other: Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman who’d taken his godfather from him and had taken great delight in torturing him for hours. He felt the rage and the need for bloody revenge fill him. It wasn’t a hot, reckless sort of anger—it was ice cold.

 

She was getting closer and would have to pass them to get to her Master. He wondered if he should just kill her, but worried that it might attract Voldemort’s attention, and let him know he wasn’t alone in the forest. Then an even better idea came to him.

 

“Move aside, I need a clear shot,” he hissed, poking at whoever stood next to him. He used his hands to ensure no one was in his line of fire before sticking the tip of his wand out again. He cast twice in rapid succession:

 

_“Silencio! Crucio!”_

 

Bellatrix fell to the ground. She didn’t make a sound, but Harry could just see an arm flailing through the trees. Harry heard more than one person in his group suck in a breath in surprise at what he’d done.

 

“Move! Forward! Now!” he hissed. He kept his wand pointed in her direction as he mentally maintained the spell.

 

The group moved forward as swiftly as they could.

 

Bellatrix was still writhing on the ground when they reached her, her mouth moving in silent shrieks.

 

_“Finite Crucio. Silencio. Imperio!”_ Harry cast rapid-fire. Bellatrix lay panting on the ground as her eyes darted around. Harry thought they looked fearful and relished it.

 

“Stay there, Bellatrix. Do not attempt to harm me. Don’t move, and don’t make a sound,” Harry ordered. Bellatrix’s eyes widened as she recognised Harry’s quiet voice, but Harry’s order prevented her from saying anything.

 

He put up a quick privacy charm. “I have plan,” he said in hushed tones to his team.

 

“Harry, you used Unforgivables,” Hermione hissed.

 

“I don’t have time for that now, Hermione.” He was well aware of what he had done; he’d deal with any emotional fallout from going against his own principles later if he had to. “I’m going to order Bellatrix to take me to Voldemort. She’s going to make him get rid of the other Death Eaters. Get into position to duel them as soon as they move away. The moment Bellatrix distracts Voldemort, engage the Death Eaters. I’ll take care of Voldemort.”

 

“How’s she going to distract him?” Ron demanded in a harsh whisper.

 

“She’s going to curse him,” Harry said, grim pleasure in his tone.

 

“But—”

 

“No time to explain more. Follow the plan. I’m going to reveal myself to Bellatrix. Stay back a little. I don’t want her to know how many of you are here.”

 

So saying, Harry pushed his way past the people blocking his path. As he crouched down, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak aside so Bellatrix could see the front of him, making sure to keep his still-cloaked back to Voldemort. He smiled humourlessly at Bellatrix as he looked down on her. He cast a privacy charm again.

 

“How lovely to see you again,” he said, allowing a slow, cold smile to creep across his face. “And I mean that, sincerely. You are just who I need to help me.”

 

Draco watched intently as Harry apparently outlined what Bellatrix was going to do under his command. He couldn’t hear Harry’s voice—he didn’t like that part—but Harry’s expression was calm and deadly. He was in complete control. His aunt was spitting mad, and he could tell she was cursing Harry from where she lay on the ground, though she made no sound.

 

“You are going to betray your Master,” Harry said with malicious smile as Bellatrix cursed at him. “Listen to me,” he snapped.

 

Bellatrix shut her mouth, but her eyes shot daggers at Harry. “You, Bellatrix Lestrange, will do exactly as I say. You will not warn Voldemort in any way. You will not indicate to Voldemort in any way that I am present or that there is any danger to him at all. You will not harm me or make any attempt to harm me. You will go to Voldemort, and tell him you have important news regarding Harry Potter. You will convince Voldemort that your news is for him only, so that he dismisses the other Death Eaters.”

 

Harry had never held someone under the Imperius Curse before, but he figured being as specific as possible was best, so he kept using Voldemort’s name and tried to make his instructions clear and concise.

 

“When the other Death Eaters have stepped away, you will pull Voldemort to the side, and pretend you are going to whisper something to him. Then you will use your wand and curse Voldemort with the Cruciatus Curse. You will hold Voldemort under the Cruciatus until I tell you to stop.”

 

“Fuck you, Potter. I won’t,” Bellatrix snarled. Harry could read her lips quite clearly.

 

“You will,” he said, “because I am ordering you to do so, and you must obey my orders. Stand up.”

 

Bellatrix dragged herself to her feet, glowering at Harry. Bits of forest debris clung to her wild hair and robes.

 

“I’ll kill you,” Draco saw her say.

 

“I think that will be the other way around,” Harry said with cool certainty. “I owe you death. I owe you more than death.

 

“Bellatrix, you may not speak to anyone except Voldemort. You will make no attempt to escape or to go in any direction but to Voldemort. Remember your orders. Let’s go.” He ended the privacy spell.

 

He pulled the Cloak closed around his shoulders, glancing towards where he knew his team to be standing. He smiled a little, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Then he disappeared under his Cloak and told Bellatrix to start walking.

 

 

*************************************************************************************

 

  
Draco didn’t like not knowing exactly what Harry was up to. He had the general picture but didn’t know the details or what Harry planned to do after Bellatrix cursed Voldemort—hopefully it was kill him the moment Bellatrix cursed him. He mentally prepared himself to duel and to keep an eye on Harry at the same time. This should be very interesting.

 

Harry followed a pace behind Bellatrix as she walked toward the Dark Lord hiding in the forest. She didn’t look happy.

 

“You will not show any anger to Voldemort,” he ordered in a whisper. Bellatrix turned and gave Harry a vicious look before her face fell into more neutral lines.

 

“Very good,” he praised, keeping his voice low but letting amusement show. “You are such an obedient little dog.”

 

Bellatrix’s back stiffened, but she kept walking.

 

As they neared, Voldemort turned and stepped forward to meet her. Harry stayed back.

 

“Have you news?” he demanded. “Or know of an escape route?”

 

“I have news, my Lord,” Bellatrix said. “News of Harry Potter.” She glanced at the other Death Eaters. “News that is best kept private for the time being.”

 

Harry smiled. Perfect.

 

Voldemort apparently trusted Bellatrix, as he immediately ordered the other Death Eaters to move away. They did so obediently, and Harry hoped his team was getting into position quickly.

 

“What is this news?” Voldemort asked—rather imperiously, Harry thought.

 

“I have just learned—” Bellatrix motioned Voldemort farther from the Death Eaters and leaned in as if to whisper. Harry saw her wand move and braced himself. This was it.

 

_“Crucio!”_

 

With a look of utter shock on his face, Voldemort fell to the ground, howling in pain.

 

The other Death Eaters jumped and stood in stunned disbelief for a moment. The next thing they knew, they were being attacked by members of Harry’s team and were soon too busy fighting against Disillusioned foes to make any attempt to help their Master.

 

Harry couldn’t help himself; he allowed Bellatrix to hold Voldemort under the spell for longer than was probably wise. That hot violence was bubbling inside him again and seeing Voldemort’s snake-like visage contorted in a rictus of pain fed him in a dark and deeply satisfying way.

 

Harry removed the Cloak and quickly shrunk it and put it in his pocket. As he did, he saw Draco move in behind Voldemort and nodded to him. “Keep her under the Imperius, no matter what,” he said. Draco nodded to show he understood. His wand was already trained on Bellatrix.

 

Harry took a moment to mentally prepare himself and then ordered Bellatrix to stop. As Voldemort lay panting and disoriented, he said, “ _Accio_ Voldemort’s wand.” The wand, which was lying on the ground near Voldemort’s feet, flew to his outstretched hand.

 

He waited until Voldemort looked at him. Then Harry snapped the wand in two. Voldemort flinched, as if he felt it.

 

“Not man enough to take me on without disarming me first?” Voldemort rasped as he pushed himself to his feet. Draco noticed his hands were shaking and wished Harry would just get on with it.

 

Harry just smiled coldly. When Voldemort lifted a hand towards Harry, Harry dodged to the side and shielded himself. He didn’t think the Killing Curse could be cast wandlessly, but he wasn’t taking any chances. It was time to end this.

 

He let the rage and anger come; he let the violence fill his being. He imagined the fire and drew up his power. Harry lifted his wand and prepared to take fate in his own hands.

 

Voldemort lifted his hand, and Harry knew he had cast a Shield. Twitching the fingers of his left hand at his side, he nonverbally cast _Finite_. At the same time, he reached back then slashed his wand violently from right to left and shouted, _“Carnificare!”_

 

Harry saw Voldemort’s eyes widen, and he moved to dodge the spell, but he wasn’t fast enough. From Harry’s perspective, it all seemed to happen in slow motion—he watched the invisible blade slice a line across Voldemort’s neck. The sheer force of the spell had Voldemort’s head flying off backwards. Blood shot upward, outwards, fountaining in arching sprays . Harry took a reflexive step back as he was hit by some of it, but he didn’t take his eyes off what was happening before him. Voldemort’s headless body crumpled like a puppet’s whose strings had been cut. Blood continued to flow in a great red river from the stump of his neck.

 

Harry just stood there for a moment watching the blood flow, stunned. His eyes darted to the head where it had settled on the ground behind the body. He stared into the open, unseeing red eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then it hit him and he wanted to both collapse in relief and scream in exaltation. He’d done it.

 

Voldemort was dead.

 

_He’d done it._

 

 

*************************************************************

 

 

Draco felt blood spatter the side of his face and his arm and hissed at the sharp flare of pain in his Dark Mark. He watched as Voldemort’s head rolled to a stop not far from where he stood, his wand still trained on his crazy aunt. A great shudder of relief and bitter joy swept through him.

 

Harry had done it. It was over. Harry was alive, and the prophecy had been fulfilled. Thoughts tumbling one over the other, he looked over, saw Harry staring at what remained of the evil Dark wizard who’d taken so much from him, had been the focus of so much of his life. He started to speak—though he had no idea what should come out of his mouth at such a moment—when Bellatrix screamed. 

 

His aunt fell to her knees, clutching at her left arm. _“No!!!!!”_

 

Harry could see the others were subduing the Death Eaters they’d been battling—apparently their Master’s death had distracted them so much Harry’s friends were able to quickly get the upper hand. Harry turned his attention to Bellatrix. Seeing her kneeling there, wailing for her evil, psychotic, murdering Master sickened him. The need for revenge clawed at him; he knew he shouldn’t, but he quickly gave into it. There was too much to avenge, for himself and so many others. In a detached sort of way, he realised he could be damning himself, but he didn’t care. In a sharp burst of clarity, he knew what he wanted to do. And what he wanted to do required some privacy.

 

“Draco, be ready to put her back under the Imperius—I’m not sure I can maintain my control while I do this.”

 

“What are you going to—”

 

Draco watched as Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. Oh, Merlin, Harry was going to command an element. Draco had no idea what to expect and braced himself for anything.

 

A circular wall of fire shot up from the ground and surrounded the three of them and Voldemort’s bleeding body, blocking them from anyone else’s view. Bellatrix leapt to her feet; Draco remembered his role and quickly cast _Imperio_ on her. He commanded her to stand still.

 

When Harry’s eyes slowly opened, they were black and opaque. The radiance shimmered along his skin. He lifted his wand as he faced Bellatrix.

 

“This is for Neville and his parents,” Harry said, his voice dark and low and flat. _“Crucio!”_

 

Bellatrix fell to the ground, screaming. She writhed and shrieked as her body contorted. Harry held her under it so long Draco thought he was going to use it to kill her. But he ended the spell and stared at her as she panted and whimpered. Draco wasn’t sure Harry could actually see her, but he was looking right at her, so perhaps he could.

 

“Get up.”

 

When Bellatrix didn’t move, Draco repeated Harry’s order—it seemed Bellatrix was completely under his control now. Bellatrix pulled herself shakily to her knees and attempted to stand. She fell and tried again, this time managing to gain her feet. She had enough energy left to glare at Harry, but Harry’s expression didn’t change. 

 

“This is for me,” he said, and while his voice was still dangerous, it wasn’t so emotionless this time. He slashed his wand and sliced off the tip of Bellatrix’s left ear. She screamed and grabbed at her ear, collapsing to her knees again as the blood poured through her fingers and down the side of her face.

 

“An ear for an ear,” Harry said, his voice bitter and hard. _“Get up.”_

 

When she simply glared malevolently at Harry, Draco repeated the order. She stood slowly and faced Harry, her chin lifted.

 

“This is for Sirius.” Harry paused and the only sound was the roaring of the curtain of fire. Then he cast his final spell: _“Avada Kedavra!”_

 

Green light enveloped Bellatrix’s body, and she fell lifeless to the ground.

 

Draco’s breath expelled from his lungs in a great rush. She was dead. Harry had not only killed the Dark Lord he’d been destined to kill, but he’d gotten his revenge. And gotten it not like a Gryffindor, but in a way that would make any Slytherin proud. And Draco was definitely a Slytherin.

 

Harry stood stock-still, his wand still pointed at where Bellatrix had stood. Draco moved to stand in front of him and took his face in his hands.

 

“Harry? Harry, can you hear me? It’s Draco. You need to come back now. Let go of the fire. Come back to me. I love you, and I need you to come back to me now.”

 

The wall of fire lowered towards the ground and vanished into the earth. Harry’s wand arm drooped, and his head fell back. Draco thought he was going to collapse and made a grab for him, but Harry didn’t fall. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. They were a clear, beautiful green.

 

Draco placed his hand on Harry’s cheek as the others came rushing forward. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did it.”

 

“I did,” Harry said, breathing a little heavily. A great wave of relief swept through him, and his knees wanted to buckle. He grabbed Draco and crushed his mouth to his. Draco kissed him back with every ounce of passion and love he had. They were alive. They were _alive_.

 

Harry finally broke the kiss and grinned at Draco. Draco grinned back at him. Then Harry looked around at all his friends. “Is everyone all right?”

 

“Yes, we’re all fine,” Remus assured him. He looked at the two bodies on the ground. His smile was as grim as his voice as he said, “Well done, Harry. Well done.”

 

Harry looked over at Voldemort’s headless form. He could hardly believe it. It really was over. The Dark Lord was dead. 

 

“What happened to Bellatrix?” Ron asked.

 

“I’ll tell you later. We need to take Voldemort’s body out to where everyone can see it, to prove he is dead. We don’t know what’s happening out there—the battle is probably still going on.”

 

He studied Voldemort’s body for a moment. Not wanting to actually touch the gory head, he used magic to move it back into place. Then he cast a Sticking charm to hold it there.

 

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked. Harry noted her shirt was dirty and torn at the shoulder; he wondered if she was aware of it. “Are we going to carry it?”

 

“Urgh—I don’t want to touch that,” Ron protested, absently rubbing his arm where he’d been hit by what had felt like a real fist.

 

“No, I’ll levitate it. The rest of you still need to be on guard and Disillusioned—there may be other Death Eaters hiding in here—they are all mostly cowards after all. When we get near the edge of the forest, stop. I’ll levitate the body out in front of us.”

 

The others nodded and began Disillusioning themselves. Hermione put the lights on everyone’s feet again. Harry didn’t want to deal with his Cloak so he Disillusioned himself as well.

 

“Ready?” he asked quietly. The others murmured their assent.

 

_“Wingardium Leviosa.”_ Voldemort’s body rose into the air. Harry was glad the Sticking charm was working.

 

They made their way silently through the forest. It was still slow going, even with the lights, and Harry was having to manoeuver Voldemort’s prone body around trees. It was a bit creepy, like some kind of bizarre funeral procession, with Voldemort’s bloody body leading the way. As the neared the boundary of the forest, they could hear the sounds of battle. When they reached the treeline, they stopped.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m going to levitate Voldemort over to the left a little more. Everyone get down and shield yourself, but hopefully if anyone fires anything into the forest, they’ll do it at the spot where the body emerges and not directly at us.”

 

So saying he moved the body several metres away then slowly floated it past the trees out into the open. Once Voldemort was clear of the trees, Harry began lifting the body higher and higher into the air, over the battleground.

 

As he watched, people began casting glances upward. Gradually, all fighting ceased, though he could see some people still shielding themselves. All eyes were on the sky where Voldemort’s body floated. Harry held it there for a moment before casting _Finite_.

 

The body went into a free-fall, and as it did, the head detached from the body. There was a collective gasp, and some people dived out of the way just before the body crashed to the ground with a resounding, bone-rattling thud. The head landed a metre or so away and rolled around a bit before coming to rest face-up.

 

There was beat of absolute silence.

 

“He’s dead!” someone shouted. “The Dark Lord is dead!”

 

The frozen tableau held for another moment and then someone fired off a spell, and the battle began again. There were several Death Eaters who made a run for the gates, but Harry’s team Stunned and bound all of them from where they remained hidden in the trees.

 

“Are we going to fight?” Fred’s disembodied voice asked.

 

“Harry shouldn’t, and neither should Draco,” Remus said. “They are too big of targets.”

 

“I’m not staying here, hidden away while everyone else fights,” Harry hissed. “I’ll use a glamour, but I’m fighting.”

 

Making sure he couldn’t be seen through the trees, Harry removed the Disillusionment spell. Draco reappeared, followed by the others. He and Draco cast glamours on each other.

 

“Stay with Harry,” Ron said. “Try to keep him shielded.”

 

“I don’t need an armed guard,” Harry protested.

 

“You do,” Draco said sharply. “If anyone casts that glamour-removing spell, all wands would be on you instantly. In fact, if that happens, you need to Disillusion yourself and get out of there as fast as possible.”

 

“Only if you do,’ Harry retorted.

 

“I will,” Draco replied, not at all hesitant to act in a way that would save his own skin.

 

“I’m leading the way,” Ron said. “Remus, you bring up the rear. Fred and George, you’re on the right flank. Hermione and Malfoy, you’re on the left with Harry in the centre.”

 

Harry didn’t like the idea of being surrounded—how could he possibly fight? He kept his mouth shut, though—he figured he’d do whatever was necessary once they were out of the forest.

 

The group walked out of the forest, everyone maintaining shields. As soon as they were clear, everyone began shooting off Stunners at random Death Eaters. Several went down, caught off guard by the sneak attack. Then return fire came their way, and everyone began to fight in earnest.

 

Harry shot off spell after spell, keeping mostly to Stunners, but whenever he became caught up in a one-on-one duel with a Death Eater, he broke out his full arsenal. The violence within him was back, and he wanted a little bit more revenge before the war ended. 

 

Harry was aware that at least one member of his team was always nearby. Draco stuck as close to Harry as possible. They wound up fighting back-to-back once. Draco could see Harry doubling up his spells, using both his wand and his left hand to cast shields and offensive hexes.

 

The fighting was vicious but thankfully short-lived. Seeing Voldemort dead had taken some of the fight out of the Death Eaters, and several simply surrendered. Others were taken down one by one until finally all of them were subdued. The Order and the Aurors went around checking to make sure each was bound and disarmed—some were Stunning conscious Death Eaters for good measure. 

 

Then it was over.

 

There was a whistle followed by a loud bang in the sky overhead that caused everyone to jump, but it drew everyone’s attention. A Whiz-bang exploded and multi-coloured lights looped into words: _Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish!_

 

Everyone laughed and began cheering. People were hugging and kissing and crying. Harry grabbed Draco and kissed the breath out of him, and it didn’t even occur to Draco to protest that they had a rather large audience. He wrapped his arms around the man he loved and kissed him back for all he was worth.

 

Eventually people began to settle down, and Dumbledore’ voice rang out over the grounds.

 

“Well done, my friends, well done! We are victorious! We have triumphed over evil, and we deserve to celebrate. And we shall. But—”

 

Dumbledore was interrupted by a shout from Tonks. “Who killed You-Know—oh, hell—who killed Voldemort? Was it Harry?”

 

“Yes!” Several members of Harry’s team shouted.

 

A great cheer went up, and Harry could only grin.

 

As the cheering settled, Dumbledore’s voice rang out again. “We indeed owe a great debt of gratitude to Harry Potter. But before we begin any well-deserved celebration, we must first take care of some more serious matters. The battle may be won, but our work is not done. Anyone who is injured needs to be taken to the infirmary. The Aurors will need some assistance in dealing with the Death Eaters. My great thanks to all of you here; without your dedication, without your years of hard work, none of this would be possible.”

 

“None of this would be possible without you and Harry Potter!” someone shouted, and a great round of applause broke out. Harry’s friends slapped him on the back, and Hermione hugged him hard. Harry just grinned again. He was too happy to worry about too much attention at the moment. 

 

There were plenty of people available to help the injured and the Aurors, so Harry’s team started to make their way to the castle. Harry held back, though.

 

When the others turned to see what was keeping him, he said, “I need to destroy Voldemort’s body.”

 

“You do, yes,” Dumbledore said as he walked over to the little group. He looked years younger. “I’m so proud of you, Harry, and grateful. You took on a terrible burden when you were still but a child, and you not only shouldered it, but you shouldered it well. Now you have relieved yourself of it, and in doing so, have saved the lives of countless people and prevented our world from falling into darkness.” He smiled and then surprised Harry by hugging him.

 

“I…thank you,” Harry said, trying to keep his emotions in check. “But I couldn’t have done it without you.” He looked around at everyone. “Without all of you. You have my deepest thanks for everything all of you have done to help me over the years.” 

 

“It was our honour,” Remus said gruffly. “I’m proud of you, too, Harry, and I know your parents and Sirius are as well.” He stepped forward and wrapped Harry in a long hug. “Thank you for Bellatrix,” he whispered. “Thank you for all of it.”

 

Harry had to blink back tears as he hugged Remus fiercely. When Remus pulled away, he could see tears in his eyes as well. Then Hermione was hugging him again, then Ron, and finally the twins nearly crushed him in a double hug that had Harry laughing.

 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” he asked. “Wonderful that we are all standing here with the war won? With it over?”

 

“It is,” Dumbledore said. “But there is one final step for you to take, Harry. Voldemort’s body needs to be taken care of.”

 

Harry nodded. Seeming to sense this was something Harry needed to do on his own, everyone but Draco started to step away.

 

“Let’s go up to the castle to check on the rest of the family,” Ron said.

 

The Weasleys, Hermione, and Remus walked away, leaving Harry alone with Draco and Dumbledore. The three of them made their way over to where Voldemort’s bloody body lay looking horribly obscene in the bright, cheerful sunlight.

 

“How do you wish to do this, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, as he levitated Voldemort’s head closer to the rest of his body.

 

“With fire,” Harry said immediately.

 

“Then command your element,” Dumbledore said. “Leave nothing of him.”

 

Dumbledore and Draco stepped back. Harry closed his eyes and cleared his mind. For the first time, he would be using fire for destruction. His focus was absolute as he brought the fire to life inside him, pulled it higher and merged his magic with that of the fire. He became the fire; he felt its heat and its power. He became the fire, and he commanded the fire.

 

His eyes opened, deep and dark. He didn’t move for a moment. Then he squeezed his right fist closed. He opened it with a flick of his wrist, and Voldemort’s body burst into flame.

 

Red and orange light shot into the sky, and Draco could hear the lick of the flames as they ate away at Voldemort’s remains. He was startled when, after a few minutes, the flames flared and became blue. They all continued to watch as the fire devoured Voldemort’s body at an unnaturally rapid rate. Finally the flames began to die down. When they were down to embers, Harry moved his hand and Vanished the ashes. His eyes closed for a moment and then he was back.

 

“Nicely done,” Dumbledore said.

 

“Why did the flames turn blue?” Draco wondered.

 

“I believe I’ll consider it a sign that Lord Voldemort is truly gone this time, never able to return,” Dumbledore said. He looked at Harry. “How do you feel now?”

 

“I feel…relieved. Vindicated. Satisfied.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “As do I. Let us go to the castle now. What was needed to be done here on this ground is done.”

 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said, reaching into his robes. “Voldemort’s wand.” He held the two pieces out to Dumbledore.

 

The Headmaster reached out and gently closed Harry’s fingers over the broken length of yew wood. “This is yours, Harry. The winner of the duel keeps the wand, and if there was ever anyone deserving of keeping the wand of a defeated foe, it is you.”

 

Harry looked down at the wand and sighed. “It’s all that’s left of him. Perhaps I should burn it, too.”

 

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head. “That is yours, your personal reminder of everything you did, everything you gave up, everything you lost, and everything you won. Keep it.”

 

Harry nodded slowly. “You’re right. I should keep it. I will keep it.” He slid the wand back inside his robes.

 

They made their way to the castle. Harry needed the physical contact and took Draco’s hand, and Draco didn’t object.

 

When they reached the doors to the castle, Draco stopped abruptly, dropping Harry’s hand. When Harry turned to give him a puzzled look, Draco said quietly, “I can’t go in.”

 

Harry stared at him. He’d completely forgotten about the spell blocking entrance to Death Eaters. Agitated, he dragged his hand through his hair.

 

“This isn’t fair,” he said angrily. “It isn’t _right!”_

 

He whirled on Dumbledore. “Can we take it down now?”

 

“With everyone here? Have you lost your mind, Harry?” Draco demanded. “This power you have is meant to be kept secret—or have you forgotten?”

 

“I don’t care,” Harry retorted recklessly. “Professor, we should do it now.”

 

Dumbledore was studying the castle very thoughtfully. He stroked his beard absently for a few moments, while Harry waited with straining impatience.

 

“Professor?” he prompted, perhaps a bit more sharply than he should speak to the school headmaster, but he wasn’t overly concerned with niceties at the moment.

 

“I wonder,” Dumbledore said softly. “Draco, do you still have your Mark?”

 

Draco and Harry looked startled by this question. Draco yanked up the sleeve of his robe and was bitterly disappointed to see it was still there, a faded ugly red.

 

“Alas,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I had wondered if the Marks would disappear upon Voldemort’s demise.”

 

“So Draco still can’t enter Hogwarts? That means we should go ahead and remove the protection.”

 

“Perhaps we may be able to put that off for another moment. Draco, you said you felt something in your Mark when the spell took hold?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And when Voldemort died, did your Mark react?”

 

“I felt a pain, a sharp one,” Draco replied. “So did Bellatrix—she grabbed her arm.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore nodded. “Then I feel there is a possibility our luck is still good this day. Shall we conduct a little test?”

 

“What test?” Harry asked, confused and impatient. He didn’t care if everyone in the wizarding world found out he could command the elements—he didn’t want Hogwarts to turn Draco away again. Not today. If it had hurt him to see it happen to Draco the first time, he could imagine quite well how Draco must have felt.

 

“A very simple test. Draco, try to enter the castle.”

 

“But I’m barred. I’m Marked—still Marked. The magic worked.” Draco didn’t say he didn’t think he could stand being turned away again if he should try and be blocked.

 

“Humour an old man,” Dumbledore said, with a slight smile. “Just try.”

 

“Do you really think—Draco, try. Just see.” Harry gave him a hopeful smile. “Professor Dumbledore thinks it’s worth a shot.”

 

“All right.” Bracing himself for rejection, Draco took a few steps forward to the doors. When he reached out, completely expecting the invisible barrier to be in place, he was shocked when instead his hand slid through what felt like cool water and touched the handle.

 

“You did it!” Harry shouted, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Open it!”

 

Stunned, Draco lifted the heavy latch and the door to Hogwarts swung open, gracing him with welcome yet again.

 

“How?” He turned to the headmaster. “How is it possible? I’m still Marked. I wear the Mark of Evil.”

 

“But is it the Mark that is evil or was it the one who was master of it?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“I…” Draco shook his head. “I don’t know.”

 

“I would say it was the master and not necessarily the servant—not that you were ever a true servant—who was blocked entry. As long as the Mark could be used for evil, it was blocked. Now, the Mark has been rendered harmless—unattractive, but harmless.” His eyes twinkled. “And Hogwarts will always welcome those who mean her no harm.”

 

“This is wonderful!” Harry exclaimed. “Draco, you never have to worry about that stupid thing again. It’s useless. And you can come back to Hogwarts and finish school.”

 

“We would have made sure of that, regardless,” Dumbledore pointed out. “But this pleasant side effect of Tom’s death has saved us some work.”

 

Harry laughed and grabbed Draco up in a hug. Draco couldn’t help himself—the relief he felt, the overall joy of the day hit him and he could only hug Harry back.

 

Entering the castle—and Draco had never appreciated the welcome he felt more—they found Remus waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. When Harry started for the stairs, Remus stopped him.

 

“The Weasleys are all fine—some minor injuries, but they are being seen to. All of your friends are well.”

 

Harry sighed in relief. His wish that everyone he loved would come through unscathed had been granted.

 

“I think you’d best stay here. The infirmary is full of people. You’ll be too much of a distraction,” Remus continued. “Everyone will want to speak to you, thank you. It’s the injured who need to be the focus.”

 

Remus had used exactly the right tack to keep Harry from protesting by mentioning the importance of tending those who had been hurt. Harry understood Remus’ point and reluctantly agreed to stay downstairs. Remus and Dumbledore made their way up the stairs.

 

Draco could hear people in the Great Hall, so he dragged Harry off to a classroom and warded the door. Then he just stood there and looked at him, drinking him in. Harry was alive. He was uninjured. He’d succeeded, and now it was over, and they could go on with their lives. It was almost too much to believe after everything that had happened, and he was taking this moment to let it all sink in.

 

Harry seemed to need some time to take in Draco as well. Then he stepped forward and just wrapped Draco in his arms and held him tightly.

 

“You’re all right. You aren’t hurt. You weren’t—” Harry’s words were cut off by Draco’s lips taking his in a hard kiss. The kiss gentled almost right away, slowing and deepening.

 

When the kiss ended, Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s. “I love you. I love you so much, and I’m so thankful I still have you.”

 

“You can’t be any more thankful than I am,” Draco said, smiling. “I love you, too.”

 

Harry stepped back and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. When it got stuck a little, he pulled it away and realised dried blood was the culprit. He grimaced.

 

“Happen to know a spell for getting blood out of hair?” he asked. “You’ve got some in yours, too.”

 

Draco made a face. He pointed his wand, and Harry bent forward so Draco could get all of his hair. When Draco was finished, Harry ran his hand through his hair again and found it to be a little damp.

 

“It’s like a shampooing spell,” Draco explained. He cast another spell, and Harry’s hair dried instantly. He then cast the spells on himself before conjuring a mirror and fixing his hair into its proper style. “I still need a haircut.”

 

Harry grinned. “We’re not confined to Grimmauld Place any longer. You can get a haircut anytime you want.”

 

“ _We_ can get our hair cut,” Draco said.

 

Harry shrugged. “Never does much good, but I’ll get one if you want me to.” Then he shook his head. “We’re talking about haircuts like this hasn’t been the most momentous day of our lives.”

 

“I’m having a hard time believing it’s really over,” Draco admitted. “It doesn’t seem quite real yet.”

 

“I know what you mean. I’ve been dealing with Voldemort in one shape or form for seven years—my entire life, really, if you count him trying to kill me as a baby. It’s going to take some time for me to get used to not having to worry about him.”

 

“You can take as much time as you need. We have all the time in the world now,” Draco said.

 

Harry smiled. “We do.” His smile turned wicked. “And we’ll be taking some of that time to celebrate when we get home.”

 

“We could start celebrating now,” Draco returned slyly, lifting a brow.

 

“Here?” Harry asked, surprised that Draco would suggest such a thing.

 

Draco walked toward him slowly. “You’re a very powerful wizard, love. Surely you can cast some privacy and locking charms that no one could possibly break though.”

 

Harry grinned. He turned and re-cast the spells Draco had put in place, doubling their strength. He added an impenetrable locking charm he’d found in a book as he’d been researching a way to destroy Voldemort. He’d known it would come in handy one day.

 

The moment he was finished, Draco was on him. Before Harry knew what was happening, he was naked, and Draco’s mouth was fused to his. He dove into the kiss enthusiastically, his hands gripping Draco’s hips as he pulled their bodies into close contact.

 

“How are we going to do this?” he managed to ask as Draco went to work on his neck.

 

“There’s a nice sturdy-looking desk over there.” Draco licked his way up and began to torment Harry’s ear with his tongue. “Wouldn’t you like a reward?”

 

Harry felt himself harden more at the very idea of being bent over the desk. “Oh, hell, yes,” he murmured. “I like rewards.”

 

“Come on then,” Draco said, taking Harry’s hand and leading him over to the desk.

 

He pushed Harry against the desk and dropped to his knees, taking Harry in to his mouth quickly. Harry groaned and braced himself against the desk. Draco’s mouth was warm and wet and felt absolutely wonderful. He pushed his hands into Draco’s hair and restlessly ran his fingers through it as Draco worked him. He was just about to reluctantly tell Draco to stop, as he didn’t want to come yet, when Draco spun him around to face the desk.

 

Draco heard Harry’s breath catch as he braced his hands on the wood. Harry wasn’t the only one looking forward to this; he was getting rather turned on by the idea of giving Harry his fantasy.

 

He swiped his tongue over Harry’s arse before parting Harry’s cheeks. He licked a stripe up and over Harry’s hole and heard him moan, “Oh, God.” 

 

Harry felt lubed fingers prodding at him, and his arse clenched around Draco’s fingers as he thought about what was coming next: a hot, hard fuck. Draco didn’t stretch him very long, and Harry’s nerves hummed in anticipation. He wanted to feel Draco’s cock open him up, stretch him wide, hard and fast. He moaned and grasped the edge of the desk as he felt the head of Draco’s cock press against him.

 

Draco rubbed his cock against Harry’s entrance slowly, teasing him a little.

 

“Dammit, Draco,” Harry said, an edge to his voice. “Don’t make me wait.”

 

“How badly do you want this, Harry?” Draco’s voice was soft and seductive. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

 

“Oh, God,” Harry groaned. “I want it. I want it so fucking badly. Please, Draco…”

 

“How do you want it? Do you want it hard and fast? Do you want me to pound your tight hole, stretch you wide, make you feel every inch of me?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry chanted. “Give it to me hard. Hard as you can. I want you—” His words strangled in his throat as Draco rammed into him. He cried out loudly, and the delicious burn of being penetrated so hard and deep spread out from his hole. He gasped and moaned as Draco thrust into him hard and fast, slamming his hips against the desk.

 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck yes,” he gritted out. “Give it to me. Give me more. God! Yes! I want more!”

 

He felt Draco pull out, and when he slammed back in, he nailed Harry’s prostate. “ _Ah!_ Oh yes, oh yes, just like that, just like that,” he cried out. Draco repeated the action, and Harry felt his hole stretch wide and moaned. He loved it. He loved this. He loved Draco for giving him this.

 

Draco watched his cock disappear into Harry, watched his hole take him deep. He used his thumbs to open Harry up even more and kept thrusting as hard as he could. The way Harry was cursing and moaning and babbling random words of praise and encouragement turned him on. He reached around and fisted Harry’s erection. He felt Harry jump a little, and he groaned as Draco began to work him, continuing to slam into him from behind.

 

Harry came with a shout. The burst of pleasure was mad and left Harry panting and moaning as Draco pushed into him a few more times before releasing and calling out Harry’s name.

 

“Oh, God,” Harry said weakly as he rested against the desktop with Draco pressed along his back. “Holy shit, that was good. Best reward ever.”

 

He felt Draco’s chuckle and winced a little as he pulled out. After a few moments, he somehow managed to push himself up, though he leaned against the desk a little as he stood.

 

Draco took him by the hips and kissed him. Harry fell into the languid kiss and sighed when Draco eventually ended it, giving Harry a few soft pecks as he slowly pulled away. 

 

He lifted a hand to Draco’s face and caressed it. “I love you so much.”

 

Draco lifted a brow. “You’d better. I’ve completely worn myself out for you.”

 

Harry laughed. He conjured two glasses and filled them with water. They drank them down quickly and then Harry Vanished the glasses.

 

“I guess we’d best be getting back—someone is probably already looking for you,” Draco said.

 

“Well, since you’re missing, too, I’d say if they know us at all, they’ll have a pretty good idea we’re together, and probably up to no good,” Harry said, smiling.

 

“True,” Draco conceded. He grabbed his wand. “But let’s try not to make it too obvious.” He cast a spell on Harry that had his skin tingling.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Something that will hopefully keep Lupin—er, Remus—from smelling us,” Draco said.

 

“Good idea,” Harry said as Draco cast the spell on himself. He used his own wand to clean the desk and floor before walking over to get their clothes from where they were neatly folded on another desk. “You’re better at the clothes-removing spell than I am.”

 

“I don’t particularly want to look like a wrinkled mess,” Draco said as he started to dress. He surveyed his clothes, and then he cast a cleaning charm on them. He’d looked up a spell to remove blood from clothing after Harry had been wounded by that cutting curse and smiled in satisfaction. He put his on before taking Harry’s and performed the same spell.

 

Draco took a moment to fix his hair, but Harry just ran a hand through his and figured that was good enough. It wasn’t like his hair ever really looked very neat.

 

They kissed once more before Harry undid the spells, and they walked to the Great Hall. It seemed most people had made their way there and were all standing around talking. When they walked in, applause broke out.

 

“Think they’re applauding because of how well I just fucked you?” Draco said under his breath.

 

Harry laughed. “I hope not.” Giving in, he waved to everyone and resigned himself to a hearty dose of attention as people began to move in his direction. Once Harry was surrounded, Draco stepped back. This was Harry’s moment, and as much as he may not want the accolades, he deserved them.

 

He looked over as Hermione walked up next to him.

 

“He handles it better now,” she said, seeming to read Draco’s thoughts. “He still doesn’t particularly like the attention, but he’s not as embarrassed by it as he once was.”

 

“He’s earned it.”

 

“He has,” Hermione agreed. “But I know for a fact that for every word of thanks he’s getting right now, he’s giving two words of credit to other people. That’s just who he is.”

 

“I know. He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met in that regard. He truly believes what he’s done isn’t any more important than what anyone else has done—he’s wrong, but he believes that.”

 

“You’ve done something very important as well.”

 

Draco looked at Hermione with his brow lifted. “Do you mean training with him?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “Not just that, although that was important. I don’t know how much Harry has told you about his childhood, but he grew up without love. He was starved for it when he came to Hogwarts, as any child would be in that situation. He got some of what he needed from his friends and from the Weasley family. Later, he had Remus, and for a time, his godfather.

 

“But you’ve given him more, and you gave it to him when he probably needed it the most. I’m grateful to you for that.”

 

Draco had no idea what to say. He’d never expected to hear Hermione Granger say anything like that to him. After a moment, he said, “I’m the one who’s grateful to him. Whatever I may have given him, he’s given me more.”

 

Hermione smiled, pleased by Draco’s words. “He’s an amazing person, isn’t he?”

 

“He is,” Draco agreed and was content as he watched that amazing person be showered with the love he deserved.

 


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-three

 

 

When they finally made it home that night, Harry and Draco celebrated some more before collapsing in utter exhaustion. Draco awoke first and just looked at the man he loved. This time yesterday, he’d been terrified he’d never wake up beside Harry again. Terrified that he’d lose him. The relief he felt at having Harry lying warm against him, safe and whole, was almost overwhelming. 

 

He ran his hand over Harry’s chest, brushing through the curls of dark hair that decorated it. After a few minutes, Harry stirred.

 

“G’morning, love,” he mumbled sleepily.

 

Draco kissed him gently. “This may be the best morning of my life.”

 

Harry smiled. “You were worried we’d never have this again.”

 

“I was,” Draco admitted. “Were you?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, stretching a little and running his hand over Draco’s shoulder. “I had faith we would win, that I’d kill Voldemort, but there was this part of me that was scared I’d lose you in the process. It wouldn’t have mattered to me that Voldemort was dead if I’d lost you.”

 

Draco smiled a little. “We were on the same page there.”

 

Harry smiled back. “But we’re here, we’re all right, and Voldemort is dead. The war is over. The war is _finally_ over.” He leaned in and kissed Draco. “Let’s go start living our lives the way we want.”

 

After showering, they made their way downstairs to find Remus putting the finishing touches on a rather elaborate breakfast. There was bacon and sausage and eggs, fried potatoes and a bowl of tomatoes, and another of fresh fruit.

 

“Good morning!” he greeted them cheerfully.

 

“What’s all this?” Harry asked.

 

“A breakfast fit for a conquering hero, of course,” Remus said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s a special day—a bowl of cereal just won’t do for the first day of peace.” 

 

Harry grinned. “What a fine way to celebrate. It all looks delicious.”

 

Remus put a pot of tea on the table. “Let’s eat!”

 

The meal was happy and light-hearted, and Harry spent as much time smiling as he did eating—which was saying a lot, as he was rather hungry after fighting in a major battle the day before.

 

As they were finishing up, Harry asked, “What’s on the agenda for today? I imagine something is.”

 

“Albus Flooed earlier,” Remus answered. “He’d like to see us at Hogwarts this afternoon at two.”

 

“Twenty-four hours since the start of the Battle of Hogwarts,” Draco observed. “How appropriate.”

 

“Did he say what for?” Harry asked.

 

“He wants to know what happened, of course,” Remus said, chuckling. “He wasn’t with us when you killed Voldemort. Neither were Minerva or Severus. I think all of them would like to hear the full story.”

 

Harry could feel Draco’s eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on Remus. “Of course. I hadn’t even thought of that. Silly of me.” He didn’t say anything about the fact that there were parts of the story he wasn’t sure he should be telling anyone—specifically what he’d done to Bellatrix before killing her.

 

Remus must have read something from the expression on Harry’s face. “You need to be prepared for questions. The twins were a bit curious about the curtain of fire, though Ron told them it was a new spell you’d learnt from Albus. And she may just let it drop, but Hermione might say something again about you using the Unforgivables.” He paused. “We could hear Bellatrix screaming, you know.”

 

Now Harry glanced at Draco. Draco shrugged as if to say it was up to Harry how much he wanted to say.

 

“I tortured her,” Harry admitted with a sigh.

 

Remus nodded, as if he had expected Harry’s answer. “May I ask how?”

 

“I used the Cruciatus on her again. Then I cut off the tip of her ear before I used the Killing Curse on her.”

 

Remus looked at Harry steadily. Then he smiled in grim satisfaction. “The ear was a nice touch. You could have done much worse and been completely justified.”

 

“There was a part of me that wanted to take her prisoner, take her back to that cellar, and do to her what she did to me,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t like that part of myself.”

 

“Given who you are, I’m sure you don’t,” Remus said. “But try not to let it bother you. What’s done is done. You have nothing to feel guilty for or to regret.”

 

“I have no regrets,” Harry assured him. “None at all.”

 

“Good.” Remus paused and then said, “Harry, I think you should know—Peter Pettigrew is dead.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “How?” Then he looked at Remus closely. “Was it you? I hope it was.” He grimaced. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

 

“If you can admit to torturing Bellatrix, I think I can admit to killing Peter,” Remus said quietly. “Though I’d rather you keep it to yourselves.”

 

Harry nodded. “What happened? When did it happen?”

 

“While you were dealing with Voldemort. He was one of the Death Eaters who was with Voldemort, and when we engaged them, I saw him. He saw me, and he tried to run. I blocked him, and there was a short duel. He never was very good at duelling.” He paused. “I’m not proud of killing him, but like you, I don’t regret it.”

 

“Killing Curse?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“He deserved much worse,” Harry said bitterly, “for betraying my parents and Sirius. And what he did to me, and so many others. Much worse. He got off easy.”

 

“Pettigrew was the one who told Voldemort where your parents were living, right?” Draco asked. Harry had told him the tale of the little rat.

 

“Yes, and set it up to look like Sirius was a murderer,” Harry said. “He was a liar, and a killer, and did a lot of Voldemort’s dirty work. I’m very glad he’s dead. And I’m glad it was you who served justice, Remus.”

 

Remus nodded, but looked a little sad. “I did what I thought was necessary, and deserved.” Then he stood. “Get out of here, I’m cleaning this up.”

 

“You cooked, you don’t clean, too,” Harry protested.

 

“Today I do,” Remus said firmly. “Go on.” He smiled a bit knowingly. “Go enjoy yourselves.”

 

Harry grinned. “See you later then.” He pulled a mildly embarrassed Draco out of the kitchen and all the way upstairs to their room.

 

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

They arrived at Hogwarts early because Harry wished to have a private word with Dumbledore. They Flooed directly to his office, and Harry was glad to see no one else was there. After exchanging greetings with the Headmaster, Harry said, “Before I tell the entire story of what happened in the forest to everyone, I’d like to discuss a couple of things with you.”

 

“Of course,” Dumbledore said.

 

“I’m not sure if I should tell everything,” Harry admitted. “I did some things that, well, could land me in prison, to be perfectly honest. I really don’t want to go to prison.”

 

Draco was very surprised by Harry’s lead-in. Harry hadn’t given any indication of being worried about some of his actions being technically illegal.

 

“You may rest easy there,” Dumbledore assured him. “We were working with the Aurors during this battle, and Kingsley got the Order special dispensation to do—within reason—whatever was necessary to defeat Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Remus said, looking surprised.

 

“While I had asked for this consideration earlier, I did not get word from Kingsley that it had been approved until just before we needed to be in position.”

 

Harry seemed relieved. “Well, that’s good. I didn’t fancy spending any time in Azkaban.”

 

“Harry, you could rob Gringotts of every last piece of gold right now, and you’d be forgiven,” Draco pointed out. “Were you really worried about going to prison?”

 

“Maybe not so much now, but…I’ve learnt the hard way the Ministry and public opinion of me can be very fickle. Once it gets out how I killed Voldemort…well, the next time the Ministry needs a scapegoat for something, I don’t want anything being thrown back at me.”

 

“Do you feel the entire story should not be told?” Dumbledore asked. “Are there parts you wish to keep restricted to a select few?”

 

Harry wet his lips. “I think that might be best. I’m just a little worried how people are going to view me if they find out everything I did. You told me powerful wizards are sometimes feared—I imagine wizards who use Unforgivables and Dark magic to defeat a Dark Lord might be looked upon with fear as well.”

 

“You used Unforgivables?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

 

“Yes,” Harry admitted. “All three of them.”

 

Dumbledore’s brows lifted. “I must admit, I am quite curious as to how the Imperius Curse played a part in this tale. But I understand your concern, Harry, and feel it may be a valid one. As Draco said, right now you are a hero who can do no wrong, but once the story gets out and people have time to ruminate upon it, you might meet with some disapproval.”

 

“Yeah—I mean, yes, sir, that’s what I’m a little afraid of. I know things are going to be a little crazy for a while—we heard about the impromptu celebrations in Diagon Alley last night on the WWN—but I hope things settle down soon, so I can get on with my life in peace. I don’t want any big upheavals, like the _Prophet_ declaring me the second coming of Voldemort or something.”

 

Everyone chuckled, but none of them wanted any kind of negative publicity or poor opinions about Harry spread around the wizarding world—he’d done enough and didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

 

“You are the best person to decide what you wish others to know,” Draco said. “You should only tell what you are comfortable telling.”

 

“I feel like there are some people who deserve to know the whole story, though. Well, there are a few details I’d still prefer to keep to just the people in this room, but most of the story can be told. I don’t want the people who have done so much to support and help me to feel slighted if I refuse to tell them. But I know something has to be told to the general public. I was hoping you all could help me figure out what should be told and what should be held back.”

 

“What about a press release?” Remus suggested. “Or a press conference where you give the story you are comfortable with the public knowing.”

 

Harry made a face at that idea.

 

“You might as well do one and get it over with,” Draco pointed out. “Reporters are going to be hounding you. You can announce that you will give one conference and answer some questions afterwards, but it will be your only one.”

 

“You can control your message that way,” Remus added. “Have a prepared statement and a list of possible questions you’ll be asked, so you can have your answers ready. And one of your answers can be ‘no comment.’”

 

Harry sighed. “I suppose you’re both right. But if I’m doing this, I’m going to need some help writing this statement. Public speaking isn’t my best thing.”

 

“I’ll be glad to help, and I’m sure Hermione would be, too,” Remus said.

 

“All right then. As for telling the full story—I’ll need to ask everyone to keep it secret.”

 

“You’ll ask them to take an oath,” Draco corrected him.

 

Harry hesitated. “Do you think that’s really necessary?”

 

Draco looked at Dumbledore. “Sir? What do you think?”

 

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and looked at Harry over the rims of his half-moon glasses. “What is it you are so afraid of people finding out about, Harry? It isn’t how you killed Voldemort—there were dozens of people who saw his decapitated body. Surely your team is aware of everything that happened as well.”

 

Harry glanced at Draco. “Not quite everything. I did everything related to Voldemort’s death openly. But I…I killed Bellatrix. I commanded fire and brought a curtain to hide what I was going to do to her from everyone except Draco.”

 

“And what did you do?”

 

“I tortured her,” Harry said bluntly, “and I don’t regret doing it. I’m not sure what kind of person that makes me, but I don’t regret it. I owed her—for myself, for Neville and his parents, and for Sirius. I don’t mind telling the others I killed her, but how I did it…that’s the part I don’t think I’ll tell anyone outside of you three. It was…personal. And it was…well, I think what I did might disturb some people.”

 

“What exactly did you do, Harry?”

 

“I used the Cruciatus Curse on her—for the second time, actually—and I cut off the tip of her ear. Then I killed her with the Killing Curse.”

 

“If only you could have conjured the Veil…” Dumbledore murmured, mostly to himself. Then his blue eyes sharpened on Harry again. “And have you found some peace now, Harry?”

 

It wasn’t at all what Harry had expected Dumbledore to say, and he took a minute to think about it.

 

“I…I think I have. I’ve had such…anger inside me. I don’t know if it’s completely gone, but I think it has, well, quieted down, I guess. I killed Voldemort violently because the violence inside me at that moment demanded it. But I don’t really feel that violence now. I haven’t liked it, and I hope it’s gone.”

 

Dumbledore studied Harry’s face for several long moments. “You may have taken an unorthodox and contradictory route to finding the road to peace, but I believe you have found it. It might take a little while longer, but I think that peace will eventually help soften that anger you still feel.” He sighed a little. “In the meantime, I do not feel asking for an oath to be inappropriate if you wish to share any part of the story involving Bellatrix. I believe omitting some of the details would be wise, but as Draco said, only you can make the decision about how much you wish others to know. Your friends will have the need to talk it over with you more later, though, so I shall do as I did before and have them swear not to discuss it with anyone else but you. Is that satisfactory?”

 

Harry nodded and caught Draco’s eye. Draco nodded, but then tilted his head. “What about the Weasley twins? They were there for the battle and saw Harry command the fire, although they don’t know that was what he was doing. And if the fire is mentioned, Professors Snape and McGonagall might have questions.”

 

“Just tell them it was a spell Dumbledore taught you,” Remus suggested to Harry. “No one saw, er, well, how you looked while you were commanding the element, did they?”

 

“No,” Harry said slowly. “I think that will work. And Ron and Hermione will know what I was really doing with the fire. Yes, I think that will work.”

 

“Then we are agreed,” Dumbledore said, standing. The others started to stand as well, but he motioned for them to stay seated. “And just in the nick of time, as they say.”

 

A knock sounded at the office door a split second after Dumbledore finished speaking. Harry wondered if he’d ever understand how Dumbledore seemed to know everything.

 

The Floo roared to life as McGonagall and Snape came in the door and took seats. Ron and Hermione dusted themselves off before taking the remaining two chairs.

 

“Before Harry and his team tell the rest of us what transpired in the forest, you need to know that it has been deemed wiser for the general public to remain unaware of parts of the story shared here today. Therefore, unless there are any objections, I will be administering an oath that will prevent what is said here today from being repeated to others who are not currently in this room.”

 

Snape gave Harry an unreadable look from hooded eyes but didn’t otherwise object. Dumbledore recited the oath and everyone made their pledge.

 

With occasional supporting commentary from the team who had been with him in the Forbidden Forest, Harry told the entire story of his final showdown with Voldemort. McGonagall appeared a bit shocked to learn Harry had used the Cruciatus and Imperius Curses on Bellatrix—and the Cruciatus on Voldemort indirectly—but from Draco’s perspective, he thought Snape might have actually been a little impressed. When Harry got to the part after he’d killed Voldemort, he hesitated.

 

“What did you do behind that wall of fire, Harry?” Ron asked quietly.

 

“Whatever it was, we won’t judge you,” Hermione said earnestly.

 

Harry smiled at his friends. Really, he did have the best friends in the world.

 

“I used a spell Dumbledore taught me and created a curtain of fire,” he said carefully. He wet his lips. “Out of sight of the others, I killed Bellatrix Lestrange.”

 

“What exactly did you do?” Snape asked, eyes glinting.

 

“I…well, let’s just say I reminded of her of what she did to me when I was held captive before I killed her with the Killing Curse.”

 

Draco watched the others’ reactions to Harry’s carefully phrased explanation. Granger and Weasley exchanged a look—Granger looked a bit wide-eyed, but Draco thought Weasley looked like he wanted more details. McGonagall was struggling to control her expression, but Snape looked coldly satisfied. Draco had a feeling he had a very good idea of what Harry had meant when he said he’d “reminded” Bellatrix of what she’d done to him.

 

“Well done, Potter,” he said.

 

Harry’s brows lifted in surprise. Not only was Snape complimenting him, but he was apparently complimenting him for torturing and killing someone. The man was a complete enigma.

 

“Well, after that, I levitated Voldemort’s body out over the grounds, and you know the rest,” Harry concluded.

 

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” Ron said, “but what you did, dropping his body that way, it was brilliant. Truly inspired.”

 

Harry couldn’t help himself; he grinned. “It was rather good, wasn’t it? I liked it when his head came unstuck.”

 

There were some chuckles at Harry’s comment.

 

“It was just the kind of ignominious end Tom would have detested,” Dumbledore remarked.

 

“And therefore very fitting,” McGonagall said smartly. “While I must confess to being a bit shocked by some of your actions, Harry, I commend you for all you have done for the wizarding world.” She smiled, and it softened her face. “I’m very proud you.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry said sincerely. “I think I might be saying this a lot in the future, but I want you all to know I mean it. I could not have defeated Voldemort without the help and support of everyone in this room. Four of you have taught me magic, magic that I cherish. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for it.” He looked at Ron and Hermione. “Two of you have been my friends since the time I got here, and I love you dearly for it.” Then he looked at Draco. “And there’s one person who inadvertently taught me a little about dealing with adversity”—there was a ripple of laughter—“but more importantly gave me his love—and it made all the difference.” He took Draco’s hand before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

 

There were simply no words for Draco to say, so he just squeezed Harry’s hand.

 

“It has indeed been a remarkable group effort from the beginning,” Dumbledore agreed. “I have already spoken to the Minister, and all members of the Order will be recognised in some way during a ceremony which will include posthumous recognition. A date has yet to be set, but I will let you know soon.”

 

“We’re getting you new robes,” Draco told Harry, and everyone laughed, including Harry.

 

“If I must,” he said agreeably.

 

“Thank you all for coming today. Please know that you have my greatest gratitude for what all of you have done for the wizarding world over the years.”

 

“You have ours as well,” McGonagall said, speaking for the group.

 

The meeting broke up, but just as Harry and Draco were about to Floo back to Grimmauld, Snape stopped them.

 

“A moment of your time, Draco.”

 

Snape turned away and strode to the door. Exchanging a glance, Harry and Draco followed him and rode down the staircase. They exited into the corridor, and Snape gave Harry a long look before he turned to Draco. “Let me see your Dark Mark.”

 

A bit surprised, Draco rolled up his sleeve. His eyes widened when he saw how faded it was.

 

“Do you think it will disappear?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I don’t know. What I know is that the Mark faded slowly over time the first time Potter defeated the Dark Lord. It took years for it to become this light of a shade. Perhaps because he is truly gone now, it is fading more quickly. It may fade more, or it may remain as it is. I was curious to see if yours looked the same as mine; it does.”

 

“I hope it fades completely,” Draco said. “But even if it stays as it is now, it’s less noticeable.”

 

Snape nodded and then looked at Harry again. “Potter, you had a job to do. You did it, and you have my thanks.” With that, Snape nodded to them both and swept away down the corridor.

 

Harry just stood there, utterly gobsmacked. Had that really just happened?

 

“Shut your mouth, Potter, you’ll catch a fly,” Draco said, amusement lacing his tone.

 

“I think someone had best check Snape for a fever—he has to be delirious to have both complimented and thanked Harry Potter in the same day.”

 

Draco laughed. “He is human, you know.”

 

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ve never been quite sure of that, to be honest.”

 

“He had to do a lot of miserable things as a spy,” Draco said quietly. “I think he must be glad he never has to do any of that again.”

 

Harry sobered instantly. “I know. I can’t imagine what’s he gone through, but you know. He has my thanks as well. We could not have won the war without his help.”

 

“I don’t know if I could have survived as a spy without him,” Draco admitted. “At least I knew there was one friend in the crowd.”

 

“I’m grateful to him for that, too,” Harry said, running his hand down Draco’s arm. He let it rest on Draco’s sleeve where it hid the Dark Mark. Then he pushed it up again and looked carefully at the ugly tattoo.

 

“I’ve never really studied it up close,” he said. “It is rather hideous, isn’t it? I hope it disappears, and you never have to look at it again.”

 

“Does it bother you to see it?” Draco asked quietly. “You’ve never said anything about it, but…”

 

Harry met Draco’s eyes. “It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Most of the time I don’t even notice it.”

 

Draco pushed down his sleeve. “I’m always aware of it. At least I won’t have it shooting pain up my arm anymore, so thanks for that.”

 

“I’m glad it won’t hurt you anymore as well. Perhaps now that the war is over, you won’t notice it so much either.”

 

“Perhaps. Let’s go home. We can start coming up with a really good glamour for you to use when we go to Diagon Alley for new robes.”

 

“A glamour?” Harry sighed. “I’m getting rather sick of those. If we wait a couple of days, do you think it will really be necessary?”

 

“Do you want to be swarmed by hordes asking for your autograph?”

 

Harry grimaced. “No. I wish there was somewhere else we could go.”

 

Draco’s eyes lit up. “That’s it. We’ll go somewhere else. How do you feel about Paris? Or Rome?”

 

“Paris? Rome? You want to go to another country to go shopping?”

 

“Why not?” Draco asked. “The clothes in either of those cities would be nicer than what we could find here, and I don’t think either of us would be recognised. We’ll get an International Portkey.”

 

“It’s rather last minute—do you think we can get one?”

 

Draco gave Harry an exasperated look. “Do you really think the Ministry is going to tell Harry Potter no?”

 

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to take advantage of his fame but…this wasn’t really a big deal. And Draco seemed so excited about the idea.

 

“All right, I’ll contact the Ministry when we get home.”

 

 

******************************************************************************

 

 

It was disgustingly easy for Harry to get an International Portkey for the next day.The witch who’d authorised it had fawned all over him, much to Harry’s discomfort. But the moment he’d pulled his head out of the Floo, and Harry had seen Draco’s expression at the sight of the empty Coca-Cola bottle in his hand, he knew it had been worth it.

 

“I’ve never been off the island,” Harry said as they were dressing the next morning.

 

“You’ll enjoy Rome,” Draco said. “I’m sorry we won’t have much time there, but we can go back later.”

 

“You still need to teach me the translation spell,” Harry reminded him.

 

“I will,” Draco promised, fussing with his hair in the mirror.

 

“You need a haircut, dear,” the mirror said, making Harry laugh.

 

“I’m getting one today,” Draco assured the mirror.

 

They left for Rome and arrived at the city’s Ministry of Magic. Draco hustled Harry straight to Rome’s wizard shopping district, called Neptune’s Hideaway, which was concealed from Muggles at the bottom of the Tiber River. Harry marvelled at the enormous bubble enclosing the many shops, restaurants, and homes. It took a bit of getting used to; seeing fish swimming by when they walked near the edge of the bubble and knowing it was only that invisible shield that kept them all from drowning was a bit of a strange feeling.

 

Harry let Draco take the lead in the clothes shopping—he knew a lot more about fashion than Harry did. He wound up buying more clothes than he thought he’d ever need, but Draco was having such a good time, Harry didn’t want to kill his mood by complaining. They ate lunch at a lovely outdoor café, with a table situated quite near the bubble. It was fascinating to see the water so close by. After they ate, they browsed a few more shops. They had haircuts—finally. Harry thought he saw a few people do a double take when they saw him, but no one stopped him or said anything to him.

 

Then they shrunk their packages, and Draco took Harry to the Colosseum. Harry was awed by its sheer size and fascinated by its history. Their tour guide told them of gladiator battles and sea battles, executions and political events. Harry especially liked the idea of sea battles and could hardly believe ancient Romans had been able to come up with a way to fill such an enormous structure with water for ships and then drain it again. When Harry commented on this, Draco muttered under his breath that magic had been involved—one of the engineers had been a very clever wizard who shored up the Muggle contraptions being used in such a way that they never suspected any magic was involved at all. Harry wished that was the sort of things Binns taught about in History of Magic—it was much more interesting to learn about that kind of history than about strangely-named giants involved in an endless series of giant wars.

 

They wandered through the Forum and took in part of Palatine Hill before having a late supper of the banks of the River Tiber and then Portkeying home.

 

The whirlwind trip whetted Harry’s appetite for travel. “That was so much fun!” he exclaimed after they’d arrived back at Grimmauld Place. “I can’t wait to go back. Or go somewhere else. I think I’d enjoy going most anywhere.”

 

Draco smiled at Harry’s enthusiasm—Harry had been a typical tourist, snapping pictures with a camera he’d borrowed from Hermione, and obviously fascinated by everything he saw. He decided he’d be taking Harry travelling more often in the future—he enjoyed it himself, and he thought seeing the world with someone like Harry, who took everything in with such delight, would be even more fun.

 

Remus was smiling at Harry as well. “I’m glad you had a good time,” he said. “I take it you didn’t have any problems with anyone recognising you?”

 

“I got a couple of looks, but other than that, no,” Harry said.

 

“That’s good. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t try going to Diagon Alley even with a glamour—the WWN reported that mad, celebratory crowds are thronging the streets. The _Prophet_ said business was up three hundred per cent from this time last month.” 

 

Harry whistled. “Wow. Well, I suppose that is good news for the shop owners.”

 

“Oh, and Minerva Flooed to let us know about the Ministry ceremony. It’s the day after tomorrow, at four o’clock. There’s to be a reception afterwards.” He looked at Harry sympathetically. “They are wanting you to make a speech, Harry, after you receive your award.”

 

Harry groaned. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. A speech? What the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I’m really unhappy to be standing here with all of you staring at me, so I’ll be brief. I killed Voldemort with a decapitation spell. Thank you for coming?’”

 

Remus and Draco laughed. “Somehow I don’t think that would go over very well,” Draco said dryly.

 

“I really think Dumbledore would be the better person to give a speech,” Harry said. “He’s been involved in this war longer than I have, and he’s done so much.”

 

“He will be giving a few remarks as well,” Remus said. “That’s all that is really necessary for you to do—use the opportunity to thank people, if you like.”

 

“I can do that,” Harry readily agreed. “I just wish this awards ceremony wasn’t going to happen in front of a huge audience.”

 

“You deserve the honour, Harry,” Remus added, with a small smile. “Albus did a lot of work, yes, but so did you. As Albus said yesterday, you took on a burden that would cripple many and did so willingly. You did something many people would never have the strength or courage to do—face the Darkest wizard of our time and defeat him. Our world owes you thanks. This is one way to give it publicly, so that everyone can feel involved in expressing their gratitude. You know what you did is important, and although you don’t feel you need to be recognised for it, others feel the need to show their appreciation. You should be proud of what you have done for so many.”

 

“And if you can decapitate a Dark Lord, you can walk on a stage and gracefully accept an award,” Draco said dryly.

 

Harry sighed. Yes, he knew what he’d done was important. Essential, even. But to have everyone staring at him…

 

“I know I can do it, and of course I’ll do it,” he said. “And I am proud I was able to give something back to the world that has given me so much. I just wish I didn’t have stand on a stage and speak with hundreds of eyes on me. It makes my palms sweat.” 

 

“Well, best to get all of your palm-sweating out of the way quickly then,” Draco said. “You should do the press conference before the ceremony happens. Otherwise people will be expecting you to talk about the battle at the ceremony, and that’s not really the appropriate time.”

 

The look on Harry’s face was almost comically resigned. “All right. Tomorrow afternoon? Do you think I can get a statement ready by tomorrow?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said. “Call Granger over here tomorrow morning, and we’ll all work on it. It shouldn’t take long.”

 

“Ok,” Harry acquiesced. “We’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

 

 

****************************************************************************

 

 

With the help of Hermione, Remus, and Draco, Harry got his statement written and prepared answers to several predictable questions. They got started on his speech for the Ministry ceremony as well, which Harry insisted on keeping as brief as possible. He wanted to keep it simple by just thanking important people, but the others insisted he needed to say more than that. Hermione suggested he mention the fact that the wizarding world still had a lot of work to do to prevent someone like Voldemort coming to power again—like getting rid of old prejudices and learning to be more tolerant. Harry liked that idea, and a few comments on that theme were added to his speech.

 

Later that afternoon, Draco helped Harry pick out robes to wear from the many they had purchased in Rome and then they Apparated to Hogwarts, where Dumbledore had suggested Harry give the press conference, as it could be kept private. They kept it limited to the press—opening it to the public would make it a zoo. The Wizarding Wireless Network would broadcast it—much to Harry’s dismay. He’d protested this rather vehemently, but the others thought it was the best way to appease the general public so Harry hopefully wouldn’t be pestered with questions everywhere he went. 

 

Trying hard not to show his nerves, Harry tapped a finger against the side of his leg as he stood on the steps of Hogwarts. When it appeared everyone had arrived and settled into the chairs that were set up, he took a deep breath and stepped to the podium.

 

“Hello, everyone. I have a prepared statement I will read. Copies will be available after the conference if anyone wants one. I will take a few questions after my statement.”

 

He took another hidden breath and drew courage by glancing at Draco, who stood off to the side. Draco had gotten several long looks and frank stares—it was obvious the reporters wanted to know why the son of Lucius Malfoy was there, but Draco coolly ignored them, Malfoy pure-blood breeding evident in his indifferent stance.

 

Seeing Draco so calm and self-assured gave Harry some courage. He clasped his hands on the podium and began. “The dark wizard who attempted to take over our world, and who died here a couple of days ago, was born Tom Riddle. He was orphaned at birth. His Muggle father abandoned his mother, a witch, and she died in childbirth.”

 

There were a few gasps and many stunned looks at Harry’s very causal announcement that the Dark Lord, champion of pure-bloods, had been a half-blood. Harry ploughed on.

 

“He had a difficult childhood. There are many who have difficult childhoods, however, and do not turn to the Dark Arts and style themselves as a Dark Lord as Riddle did. He called himself Lord Voldemort—” he paused for the predicted gasps, which he felt were more ridiculous than ever, seeing as how the man was dead—“and used his power and promises of glory to sway many to his side. He wished to take control of the wizarding world and began a reign of terror in the years before I was born.

 

“During this time, Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy that the one with the power to defeat him would be born at the end of July to people who had thrice defied him. Voldemort learned only this part of the prophecy. He did not know that the prophecy also said that he himself would mark this person as his equal.

 

“Voldemort interpreted the part of the prophecy he knew to mean I was the one who could defeat him. I was born on the thirty-first of July, and my parents had fought against him. He came to my home and killed my parents when I was still a baby. My mother loved me. She shielded me, and in giving her life in an attempt to save me, invoked a type of blood magic. When Voldemort attempted to kill me with the Killing Curse, it rebounded on him, leaving me with this scar.” He gestured to his forehead. “As foretold in the prophecy, he marked me. He marked me as the one who could be his downfall. He did not die at this time, however. The Killing Curse left him as a being less than human.

 

“He disappeared for many years, sustaining himself magically by various Dark means until one of his Death Eaters, Peter Pettigrew, returned to him and helped him. With his help, and the help of another servant, Barty Crouch, Jr., Voldemort captured me during the Tri-Wizard Tournament held during my fourth year at Hogwarts. He used my blood as part of a spell that returned him to a human body and began gathering his Death Eaters and recruiting more until he had the power to once again seek to rule our world.”

Harry paused and took a drink of water. He was almost finished, and so far it was going fine, his audience listening raptly.

 

“A group known as the Order of the Phoenix, led by Albus Dumbledore, opposed him during both time periods in which he held power. This group of brave and dedicated people kept Voldemort from taking control. But the defeat of Voldemort could only come at the hand of the one prophesied to do so: me. Voldemort had marked me as his equal when he attempted to kill me as a baby. So I trained and I learned. Without the Order of the Phoenix, not only would Voldemort have likely taken over our world, but I would have never had the skills necessary to defeat him.

 

“A few days ago, Albus Dumbledore set a trap for Voldemort, here on the grounds of Hogwarts, so that I could finally have the opportunity to defeat him. I made an attempt before any fighting began, just after Voldemort had arrived, but I failed. With the help of a small team consisting of Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Draco Malfoy, I was able to corner Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest where, like the coward he was, he had escaped to hide. My team engaged the Death Eaters guarding him, and I was finally able to fulfil my role in the prophecy: I killed Lord Voldemort.

 

“The battle was not over, however, and even when Voldemort’s body was shown to them, the Death Eaters continued to fight. Courageous members of the Order of the Phoenix and Ministry Aurors eventually defeated them. At that time, Voldemort’s body was burned, so that he will never be able to return.”

 

Harry paused and took another drink of water to steady himself. Now came the really nerve-wracking part: opening himself up for questions.

 

“I will now take a few questions—one at a time, please.”

 

Hands shot into the air and voices overlapped as questions were shouted. Following the instructions Draco had given him, Harry remained absolutely silent. The shouts eventually dropped away as the reporters finally understood he wasn’t going to say anything. 

 

“I believe I asked for questions one at a time,” he said mildly.

 

Hands shot into the air, and he picked one at random.

 

“Rumour has it You-Know-Who’s head was cut off. Did you actually kill him by decapitating him?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said flatly.

 

“Why did you choose to do that?”

 

“I wanted to damage his body in such a way that he could not maintain any semblance of life.”

 

He went on to call on reporter after reporter. He answered questions about the final battle, his training, about some of the other people involved in the Order.

 

“Mr Potter, there are rumours circulating that you were taken and held captive by Death Eaters prior to the Battle of Hogwarts. Is this true? What happened to you?”

 

Harry hesitated. They’d discussed the fact that this might come up, and he was torn between giving some information and just saying “no comment.” Making up his mind quickly, he said, “Yes, I was held captive by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And I was…I was tortured.”

 

There were several gasps, and for just a moment, the scratching of quills on parchment filled his ears. For some reason, the sound made his skin crawl, and he had to force himself not to shudder.

 

“How did you escape?”

 

“I did not escape; I was rescued by Draco Malfoy, who was acting as a spy for the Order within the Death Eaters at that time. At great personal risk, he freed me.” Harry glanced at Draco and smiled a little. Draco’s role was the reason he’d decided to go ahead and tell of his ordeal; Draco deserved credit for what he had done, and it might serve as a step towards redeeming the name Malfoy in the eyes of the public. “I owe my life to him.”

 

A blonde reporter shot up a hand, and Harry called on her. “Another rumour has it that you and Mr Malfoy are an item,” she purred, and Harry knew she had to be from _Witch Weekly_ or some other inane rag geared towards young girls. “Will you confirm?”

 

Harry didn’t need to look at Draco—he knew Draco would prefer to keep their personal life private, but he was dating a man many considered public property. Draco knew their relationship would be gossip fodder.

 

“Yes, I am in a relationship with Draco. I will make no further comment on anything pertaining to our relationship.”

 

“But how can Harry Potter be dating the son of a notorious Death Eater?” the blonde reporter persisted.

 

Harry gave the woman a cool stare for a moment before he turned his head and called on another reporter.

 

“How do you feel now that you have killed You-Know-Who?”

 

Harry was actually glad to get back to the topic of Voldemort, although this was a potentially sticky question. He took a breath and refreshed his memory of his careful response by glancing at his notes.

 

“I am glad he is dead. I am relieved it is over. Voldemort and his actions have dictated much of my life. I have suffered losses of loved ones and friends. I am looking forward to being able to live my life in peace.”

 

“But how do you feel about killing another person?” the reporter persisted.

 

“No one ever asked me if I wanted to kill someone. No one ever asked me how I felt about taking a life. The wizarding world looked to a child to solve their problems by taking the life of a powerful wizard much older and more experienced than he was. But I did what I had to do. I did what was necessary. I have no regrets.”

 

The reporters were silent for a moment after that, and Harry took the opportunity finish the conference.

 

“Thank you for your time and your honest and accurate reporting of the events I have explained to you here today,” Harry said with a pointed look around at the crowd. “Good day.”

 

He stepped back and inhaled deeply. It was done. He’d gotten through it and thought he’d done a good job. The reporters shouted a few more questions, but he ignored them and walked into the castle.

 

He heard Dumbledore taking control outside and leaned against the wall. Draco, Ron, and Hermione joined him after a few minutes.

 

“Well done, mate,” Ron said.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’m glad it’s over with.”

 

“I’m sure you are,” Ron replied, laughing. “I know how much you love public speaking.”

 

“Yes, I simply adore it,” Harry said sarcastically.

 

He started a little when he felt Draco take his hand and kiss him on the cheek. “You may hate it, but you are good at it,” Draco said. “You handled all of the questions very well, especially the last one. We hadn’t planned for that one specifically, but I must say, you were a bit Slytherin in the fact that you never really gave them a direct answer about how you felt.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry smiled. “You must be rubbing off on me.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he rolled his own eyes and groaned as Draco snickered. “That was very poorly worded, wasn’t it?”

 

Hermione was smiling a little. “Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing you didn’t say anything like that during the conference.”

 

They all laughed, and after a few more minutes discussing the conference, they went their separate ways, Harry very relieved to have the whole thing over and done with.

 

 

*******************************************************************

 

 

Later that evening, Draco rubbed Harry’s shoulders as he reviewed the speech for the awards ceremony. Harry was knotted up at the idea of making a speech in front of hundreds of people.

 

“You’re going to do fine, love,” he said, digging his thumbs into what felt like a rock at the base of Harry’s neck.

 

Harry flinched a little from the pressure but then made himself relax. “I hope so. I just wish it was over with, like the press conference.”

 

“By this time tomorrow, it will be. And we’ll probably still be standing around making small talk with your fans at a boring reception.”

 

Harry laughed. “Unfortunately, you’re probably right.” He looked over his shoulder at Draco. “You know there will be more questions about us. It will be our first public appearance together.”

 

“As long as you don’t try to snog me in the middle of the reception, I think it will be fine.”

 

Harry sighed dramatically. “You’ve ruined all my carefully constructed plans to push you against a wall and show everyone just how much I love you.”

 

“Do that and you’ll be sleeping on this couch for a week,” Draco responded dryly.

 

Harry turned a little. “Seriously, how much, uh, public display of affection are you comfortable with? I don’t want to embarrass you. I mean, can I put my arm around you?”

 

Draco lifted a brow. “Of course you can. I draw the line at snogging or grabbing my arse.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Can I feel you up under the table?”

 

Draco glared at him. “No.”

 

“If there’s dancing, can I press up really close against you and let you feel how much I want you?”

 

Now Draco rolled his eyes. “No.”

 

“What about a quick blowjob in the gents? Is that all right?”

 

“Only if you cast a really strong Silencing charm.”

 

Harry snorted. “Yeah, you can get pretty loud.”

 

“So can you,” Draco retorted.

 

“True,” Harry conceded. “Good thing I know how to cast really good Silencing charms.” He turned around fully and faced Draco. “Want to go upstairs and be loud together?”

 

Draco smiled slowly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four

 

 

“…am proud to award the Order of Merlin, First Class, to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

 

Harry watched from the wings as the medal was pinned to Dumbledore’s elaborate burgundy robes. As predicted, his palms were sweating, and he was so nervous, he hardly heard a word of Dumbledore’s remarks. He was next. He’d been saved for last, so he didn’t even have a friend waiting backstage with him—all members of the Order of the Phoenix had already been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class, including his parents, Sirius, and all the other members who had died in the fight against Voldemort. He’d gone out on the stage to collect the posthumous awards for his parents and Sirius, but he hadn’t been nervous then—that was about them, not him.

 

But now it was all about him, and every pair of eyes would be looking at him to say something profound. He just hoped he didn’t stutter and stammer or get tongue-tied.

 

When Harry heard his name, he focussed his attention back on the stage. The Minister was telling the story of the deeds for which he was being awarded. Harry was embarrassed by the way the man was practically gushing about him. He wanted to laugh—he hadn’t always been so well regarded by the Ministry. Now that he’d managed to do what no one else at the Ministry had been able to do—indeed, had barely tried to do—he was their darling.

 

‘Good thing I don’t have much of an ego,’ Harry thought, amused. ‘And good thing I’ve got enough Slytherin in me to take all this with a very big grain of salt.’

 

“…Mr Potter, will you please come forward.”

 

This was it. Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his palms on his robes. Then he fixed a smile on his face and strode confidently out onto the stage doing his best to tune out the roar of the audience.

 

The Minister smiled and shook his hand. An assistant handed him a flat box, and he opened it and removed the ornate gold medal. He pinned it to Harry’s robes, saying, “On behalf of the wizarding world, I am pleased and honoured to award Harry James Potter the Order of Merlin, First Class. Congratulations, Mr Potter, and know that you have all of our gratitude.”

 

Harry nodded and smiled and posed for a couple of photos. Then he was gestured forward to the podium. He surreptitiously pulled out the sheet of folded parchment with his remarks—he was pretty sure he had it memorised, but wanted it as back up.

 

He looked out over the sea of people and his stomach clutched, but he pasted a pleasant smile on his face. Looking down at the front rows where his friends sat helped, and seeing them with their own Order of Merlin awards pinned to their chests brightened his smile into a genuine one.

 

“Good afternoon,” he started. “I am both honoured and humbled to receive this award today. But as you have all just heard, I accomplished nothing on my own. The defeat of Lord Voldemort—” pause for gasps— “was possible due to the work of many brave and dedicated wizards and witches, many of whom began this work before I was born. I would like to take this moment to give these people, whom I am proud to call family and friends, my own thanks. The depth of my gratitude is endless.”

 

There was a loud round of applause. Harry scanned the crowd as he waited for it to die down. His eye was drawn to a flash of movement to the far right. He didn’t know whether it was a sixth sense or just battle reflexes, but he instantly knew something was wrong.

 

“Get down!” he shouted at the Minister and others seated on the stage behind him. He dropped into a low crouch, drew his wand, and flung up simultaneous shields, one in front of himself and one in front of the Minister and those seated closest to him.

 

He wasn’t a moment too soon, either. Harry ducked instinctively, which likely saved his life, as an all-too-familiar green jet of light sailed over his head. A second curse blasted against his personal shield, shattering it, the glare of its blue light dispersing in every direction. Harry shielded again, unable to strike back, as the caster was in the midst of a huge throng of people—people who were currently screaming and shouting and panicking. He crouched behind the podium with his shield still raised—a destructive spell could penetrate the wooden podium quite easily—and glanced behind him. The Minister was being hustled off the stage by a contingent of Aurors, and everyone else was rushing down the stairs right behind him.

 

Harry figured staying put was the better option, as at least he had some cover. But no more spells had been cast after the second one, so he imagined the perpetrator had either lost themself in the crowd or had been subdued. Risking a glance out into the audience, he saw with relief it was the latter—Aurors were hauling a stone-faced man in manacles through the crowd, which was rapidly parting like the Red Sea to give them a free way through.

 

Harry scanned the chaos, seeking Draco or anyone else he knew. He saw Dumbledore first, standing as tall as he did, especially with his pointed hat. McGonagall and several other people were with him, but he didn’t see…ah. There were Hermione and Ron…the twins were with Remus, Molly, and Arthur…but where was Draco?

 

Starting to feel a little panicky himself, Harry figured it was safe enough to reveal himself and stood up, his eyes still rapidly searching the quickly emptying ballroom. There were a lot fewer people; he should be able to spot Draco more easily now…

 

“Harry!” At the sound of his name, Harry spun to the right in time to see Draco mounting the stairs to the stage two at a time.

 

“Oh, thank, Merlin!” he breathed. “I couldn’t find you in the crowd.”

 

“I was having to push against the masses to get backstage—I was trying to get up here to you,” Draco explained. His eyes ran over Harry’s face and his body, as if searching for injuries, and the hand not holding his wand fluttered oddly before it settled at his side. Harry smiled a little and solved the problem of the need to touch by running his hand down Draco’s arm and then giving his hand a brief squeeze. Then he decided to hell with Draco’s sense of propriety and pulled his lover into his arms for a short but hard hug.

 

“I’m all right,” he said softly as he released Draco. He kept a hand on his shoulder though. “I’m assuming you are as well? And everyone else?”

 

“Let’s get off this stage,” Draco said shortly, steering Harry toward the stairs, his eyes scanning the mostly empty ballroom. “I’m feeling a bit twitchy out in the open this way.”

 

Harry wasn’t comfortable standing up on the stage either—he felt like a sitting duck after having just been attacked. As he moved towards the steps, he glanced back over his shoulder; he had that unnerving feeling of being watched. Seeing no one in particular looking at him, he shrugged it off as residual paranoia and followed Draco off the stage.

 

But Harry’s gut instincts had been right as usual; someone was watching. Harry wasn’t the primary target of the watcher, however. The woman with long dark hair whose eyes followed the two young men off the stage was focussed more on Draco than Harry. 

 

 

******************************************************************************

 

 

Backstage, Draco pulled Harry around some stacked chairs and down a short corridor.

 

“Are you all right?” Harry repeated his question.

 

“Yes, of course—I wasn’t the one being attacked at a bloody awards ceremony in the middle of the bloody Ministry of Magic,” Draco ground out. He was well and truly pissed off—but the fear that was forcibly buried under the anger was swiftly rising to the surface. He’d been startled and then scared to death when those curses were shot at Harry. His first thought had been to get to his love, but the hordes of people running amok had prevented him from moving very quickly. He’d shoved and pushed and cursed with every beat of his frantic heart in his desperation to get to Harry.

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Well, you said the reception would be dull—at least this way we get to skip it.” He tried a smile, but it faded quickly at the look on Draco’s face.

 

“You could have been killed,” Draco whispered, wrapping his hand in Harry’s sleeve, a ripple of the ocean of fear within him creeping into his voice. “I don’t know what the second spell that maniac used was, but the first was—it was the _Killing Curse_ —if you hadn’t ducked…” His voice cracked a little, and he didn’t care.

 

Harry looked straight into Draco’s frightened eyes. “I’m all right, love,” he said quietly, placing his palm on Draco’s cheek. “It missed me. I’m all right.” He leaned in and kissed Draco softly. “I’m all right.”

 

Draco released a huge sigh and rested his forehead against Harry’s as he fought to get himself under control. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing each other in, taking the time to let everything settle and reassure themselves that everything was fine.

 

Someone clearing their throat interrupted them.

 

“Excuse me, Mr Potter. I’m Auror Blanker. We’ve been looking for you. Are you unharmed?”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry assured him. “I wasn’t hit.”

 

“But he could have been,” Draco snapped, feeling that anger rise again. “How did this happen? Where were the Aurors?”

 

Harry placed a restraining hand on Draco’s arm. “Let’s not do this here, love. We’ll draw a crowd.” He turned to the Auror. “We’d like to speak with whoever is in charge, please.”

 

“That’s Auror Shacklebolt, and he’d like to speak with you as well. If you’ll follow me back to the DMLE.”

 

They wound their way through the Ministry for what felt like hours before finally arriving at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. Harry was glad they’d be dealing with Kingsley—he knew for a fact Kingsley was more than trustworthy. Auror Blanker escorted them to Kingsley’s office and the tall Auror, bald pate gleaming as usual, stood to greet them.

  
“Harry, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you. You’re truly all right?”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, “though I’ll admit to being a little shaken up now that the danger’s passed. Not exactly how I expected the ceremony to end.”

 

“How did this happen?” Draco demanded.

 

Kingsley looked grim. He sighed and motioned both of them to chairs as he sank into his own behind his desk. “I’d like the answer to that myself. All those entering today were to be checked for the Dark Mark. The man who attacked you isn’t speaking, but he _is_ Marked.”

 

“How did he get through?” Harry asked, starting to feel a bit angry himself.

 

“We’re investigating that. Either he used some sort of powerful glamour or—”

 

“Or there’s someone in security who helped him,” Draco interrupted.

 

“Yes,” Kingsley said heavily. “Believe me, we will be interrogating and investigating all members of security very closely. We’ve begun the process of attempting to root out any remaining Death Eaters who may be employed by the Ministry, and those thought to have been active but unmarked sympathizers, but the war ended less than a week ago. We knew we had a lot of work to do, but the incident today proves how serious the situation is.”

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “It was short-sighted of me, but I hadn’t thought about danger continuing after the war ended. I guess I’ve just been too damn happy to think about such things. That will have to change.”

 

“I’d like to offer you Auror protection, Harry. You are right in that danger still exists, most especially for you.”

 

Harry instinctively recoiled at the idea of being followed about by Aurors all day. “I appreciate it, Kingsley, but I can take care of myself.”

 

“I know that quite well, Harry, as does anyone who saw you on that stage just now. But you can’t be on alert every hour of every day, and I know you want freedom of movement. Having an Auror escort could allow you to enjoy that freedom with hopefully a little less stress, and a lot more safety.”

 

Harry glanced at Draco, but Draco’s neutral expression didn’t give him any clues as to what Draco thought of this idea. He sighed. He still didn’t relish the thought of having bodyguards, but it occurred to him the Aurors would provide protection for Draco, too. “All right. I think about it.”

 

“Good enough. I promise you both, a very thorough investigation will be held to determine how that Death Eater was able to get in and attack you today. And I’ll break protocol for you and keep you up-to-date on the investigation’s progress. I feel you have the right to know what we discover.”

 

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Kingsley. Well, we’ll let you get started on the investigation.” He stood and Draco followed suit. Harry shook Kingsley’s hand and headed for the door. When Draco grasped Kingsley’s hand, the look in his eyes was cold and held a definite warning. Kingsley simply met his gaze and nodded slightly; he understood Draco’s message, and didn’t blame him for it.

 

 

*****************************************************

 

 

“You’re still in danger.”

 

Harry glanced back at Draco as he entered their bedroom. “Looks like.”

 

“I should have thought of this,” Draco berated himself. “What kind of Slytherin am I not to have foreseen this? Not prepared for this? You could have been killed, and I would have done nothing to prevent it.”

 

“Don’t put this on yourself,” Harry responded, a note of warning in his voice. He could see Draco was getting worked up. “You’re not the only person who should have thought about the fact that there would be people out for revenge on me. I should have thought of it. Dumbledore should have. Any of us should have. And I’m not the only one who’s a potential target. You are. Dumbledore is. Other members of the Order.”

 

“You’re the biggest target, and you know it.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Harry conceded. “But both of us are going to have to be a lot more careful. We should have been safe at the Ministry, but if we go somewhere like Diagon Alley…”

 

“We either won’t be going, or we’ll be using glamours—and you’ll have Auror protection,” Draco said sharply.

 

Harry lifted his brows. “So you’re in favour of bodyguards for us. Back in Kingsley’s office, I couldn’t tell what your opinion was.”

 

“The bodyguards are for you.”

 

“For us,” Harry corrected. Before Draco could argue, he said pointedly, “You’re a target, love, and you’re probably going to be with me most—if not all—of the places I go. If someone is aiming for me and sees you with me, what do you think they’ll do? They’ll go for you, too, of course.”

 

The look on Draco’s face told Harry that while he didn’t like Harry’s logic, he couldn’t figure out a way to argue against it.

 

Harry played his ace. “I don’t want bodyguards. I don’t want to be followed around everywhere I go, as I value my privacy. And I’m quite able to protect myself, thank you very much. But I’ll accept them—at least part of the time— _if_ you and Kingsley agree they’ll be protecting you, too.”

 

Draco gave Harry a dirty look that indicated he knew he’d just been manoeuvred into a corner. “Fine. I agree.” He smirked a little. “That was very Slytherin of you, love. I’m so proud.”

 

Harry laughed. “According to the Sorting Hat, I might have made a very good Slytherin, but I feel I ended up in the right house for me.”

 

“The Sorting Hat? Are you saying…?”

 

“When it was trying to decide where to sort me, it mentioned Ravenclaw and Slytherin before putting me in Gryffindor. Of course, the fact that I begged to be put anywhere but Slytherin might have had something to do with the fact that I didn’t end up as your housemate.”

 

“You had a conversation with the Sorting Hat?” Draco stared at Harry in disbelief. “I didn’t even know the Sorting Hat talked to anyone. It hardly touched my head before sorting me into my rightful house.”

 

“It was sort of thinking aloud, I guess you could say, considering its options for me,” Harry explained.

 

“What did it say about putting you in Slytherin? And dare I ask why you were so opposed to being sorted into the best house at Hogwarts?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “It said Slytherin could help me become great or something to that effect. And you’re the reason I didn’t want to be in Slytherin—well, part of the reason, what with you being an arse on the train. But I’d been told Voldemort was a Slytherin, and I’d just found out he’d murdered my parents, so…”

 

“Ah,” Draco said, nodding. “I can understand your reluctance.” He looked Harry up and down. “Well, I suppose you have the cunning and the cleverness. And you certainly have ambition, though it’s goal-oriented as opposed to self-oriented. But I must say I agree with the Hat’s ultimate decision—you’re too much of a Gryffindor to have survived in Slytherin. Your Gryffindor qualities far outweigh your Slytherin ones.”

 

“Gryffindor is definitely the best house for me,” Harry agreed. “If I hadn’t been sorted there, I might never have gotten to be friends with Ron and Hermione and…I can’t even imagine how different my life would be without them as my best friends.”

 

“You could have had me for a best friend,” Draco pointed out, smirking.

 

“Do you really think we would have been friends?”

 

“You’d have either been my very best mate or my biggest in-house rival,” Draco said dryly. “I think with us, it would have been one extreme or the other.”

 

Harry laughed. “You’re probably right. Our relationship has certainly gone from one extreme to the other since we first met.”

 

Draco snorted. “I’ll say.”

 

“I like the extreme we’re at now,” Harry said, leaning in to give Draco a quick kiss.

 

In a lightning-fast shift in mood, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm before he could step away. When Harry looked back at him, confused, it was to find Draco’s eyes, sharp and intense, searching his face.

 

“Draco, what is it?”

 

“You could have been killed,” Draco said softly. “You must promise me you’ll be careful.”

 

Harry could have argued. He could have insisted Draco be careful, too. But he knew it wasn’t the time for that. He could give Draco what he needed—reassurance.

 

“I will,” Harry promised. “I will.”

 

 

********************************************************

 

 

The dream from which Harry awoke was unlike any he’d had before. His eyes shot open and his breath came quickly as his eyes darted around the room. His body relaxed slightly as he recognised his surroundings. It relaxed more when he felt his lover’s warmth beside him.

 

Quietly, so as not to disturb Draco, Harry pushed aside the covers and got out of bed. He was unnerved and felt some anxiety, but nowhere close to what he’d felt after other flashbacks. Hands shaking slightly, he walked steadily to the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face and then stared at himself in the mirror.

 

‘Not quite so haunted,’ he thought. ‘Not as panicked. Not as terrified. There’s no pain, real or remembered this time. It wasn’t as bad.’

 

He spent some time sorting through the dream in his head, wondering what it meant, or if it meant anything at all. While he was relieved the flashback hadn’t left him sick and completely freaked out again, he wasn’t sure he was very comfortable with what he suspected the reason for that might be.

 

Deciding to think on it more later, he returned to bed. When the side of his bed dipped as he sat on it, Draco stirred.

 

“Harry?” he murmured sleepily. Then he woke up a little more and quickly rolled over. When he saw Harry sitting up, he said, “You’re awake. Are you all right? Have you had another flashback?”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry assured him, pushing on his shoulder to keep him from sitting up. He lay down beside Draco. “I had a dream, yes. It was sort of a flashback, but…not. I’m all right though.”

 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Harry promised. “Right now, I’m tired. Let’s go back to sleep.”

 

Draco’s eyes searched Harry’s face in the shadows of the moonlight filtering in from the partially opened curtains. What he saw there apparently put his mind at ease enough that he didn’t argue.

 

“All right. Tomorrow.”

 

Harry kissed Draco lightly. “Good night, love.”

 

“Good night.”

 

 

*******************************************************

 

 

When Harry awoke again, it was morning, and Draco was missing from bed. Not overly surprised, as Draco wasn’t as fond of lazing about in bed (as he put it) as Harry was, Harry got up and used the loo. He was surprised, however, when he walked back into the bedroom and found Draco fussing with trays that were set on the table in their sitting area.

 

“Good morning. What’s all this?”

 

Draco glanced over as he finished preparing a cup of tea. He brought it over to Harry, handing it to him with a kiss. “Hi. How are you this morning?”

 

Remembering the dream clued Harry in to the reason why Draco was studying him so carefully.

 

“I’m fine,” he said casually, taking a sip of his tea. “Thank you for this—and for worrying about me.”

 

Draco just gave Harry a look. “Of course I’m worried. You said you dreamed last night…I want to know about it.”

 

“So you brought us breakfast, so we could eat while I told you about it?” Harry asked, settling on the sofa and reaching for a plate. He plucked a croissant out of the basket and set about buttering it. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

 

Draco sat down across from Harry and picked up his tea. “You’re entirely too calm. You may be able to fool others with your “everything’s fine” routine, but not me. Whatever this dream was, it bothered you. I wish you’d tell me about it.”

 

Harry sighed. Why had he even been trying to fool Draco into thinking the dream hadn’t affected him overly much? “Yes, all right. I did dream, and it did bother me. Well, to be accurate, it’s not just what I dreamed that disturbed me—it’s what the dream started me thinking about.”

 

Draco’s brow furrowed. “What did it start you think—no, wait. Tell me the actual dream first.”

 

Harry took a bite of bread and chewed it thoughtfully before washing it down with a swallow of tea. “It started off as a flashback. It wasn’t as…intense…as the others have been, but it was definitely a flashback. Voldemort was using the Cruciatus on me, and Bellatrix was standing there, laughing, as he did. It hurt, in the dream, it hurt, just as it always does. Voldemort asked me about the prophecy; to keep myself from saying anything, I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they’d break.” He shuddered a little. “Then it was Bellatrix torturing me, flinging spell after spell at me. She was mocking me, laughing at me, insulting me, talking in that stupid baby voice. Then she was back to using her wand against me, and I…well, you get the picture. There was pain, remembered pain, and blood and I felt…I felt that…that horrible despair that mixed with a desperate kind of hope that someone would save me.”

 

“Harry.”

 

Harry looked up at Draco; his eyes were dry, but bleak.

 

“Do you know what I’d give to be able to take all this away from you? To keep you from ever having another flashback again?”

 

Harry smiled a little. “It’s a nice thought.” He sighed and looked down at his cup of tea. “That part of the dream—the flashback part—didn’t go on so very long. It changed. The dream changed after a while, to, well, I guess it was a different sort of flashback.” He looked at Draco. “I started dreaming about killing Voldemort and Bellatrix.”

 

Draco’s brows lifted. “Really? That hasn’t happened before, has it?”

 

Harry shook his head. “No, though I guess it’s not too surprising that I would dream about it. In the dream, I really just relived everything—Bellatrix holding Voldemort under _Crucio,_ breaking his wand...casting the final spell and watching him die. Seeing the look on his face, then the blood spraying everywhere—I felt the same way I had when it really happened. Shocked, fascinated, awed, satisfied, vindicated…with a strange sense of pride at having accomplished something mixed in there as well. Am I making any sense? It’s very hard to put into words how I felt when I watched Voldemort die. When I killed him.”

 

“I think I understand well enough. I was feeling quite a mix of things when I saw him die as well.”

 

Harry nodded. “Anyway, the dream continues just as it did in reality—I tortured Bellatrix. I killed her. Then I woke up.”

 

“Hmm. Well, like you said, I guess it isn’t odd you would dream about all that. It was a rather intense and important moment in your life.” He paused. “But you said what the dream made you think about is bothering you.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said with a heavy sigh. He poured himself another cup of tea and took his time stirring in some sugar and milk. Draco didn’t say anything about the obvious stalling tactic—he figured Harry needed some time to gather his thoughts.

 

“When I woke up from the dream,” Harry started slowly, “I went into the bathroom for a bit, and I was thinking about how different this dream was from the others. And as it was so fresh in my mind, about how I’d felt when I killed. I’ve told you how I feel anger sometimes, how it can swamp me. Being tortured…I think it made me more violent. Or maybe it’s like you said once—everyone has violence in them, so maybe mine was just woken up. But I killed Voldemort violently because I _needed_ to do it violently. In that moment, I felt so much rage, so much pain…if I’d killed him with the strangulation spell before the battle started, I think I would have been fine. But when I didn’t, and when I came face-to-face with him in the woods…that violence rose up within me. I wouldn’t have been satisfied if I had used the Killing Curse or the desiccation spell. I not only wanted the blood, I _needed_ it.”

 

“Merlin, Harry, you’re always so hard on yourself. You were in battle. You were confronting the man who’d caused all of your pain, who’d hurt you so badly in so many ways. Who’d hurt you violently. I think using a little violence in that situation is completely normal and understandable.”

 

“I know, I know,” Harry agreed. “To be honest, killing Voldemort and how I felt when I did it…that’s not the part that’s really bothering me. It probably should be, and I suppose it might be a little, but it will pass. It’s what I did to Bellatrix that has me a little worried.”

 

“Ah. The torture, I’m assuming?” Draco had wondered if this would come up.

 

“Yeah.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Draco, I don’t believe in torture. I’m morally against it. When Moody used the Cruciatus against you in an effort to make you talk…I was furious. What he did to you was wrong. And when I said that to—” He broke off and cursed under his breath. “Never mind that part. The point is—”

 

Draco held up a hand, eyes narrowed. “I want to know the part you’re leaving out.”

 

“It’s not important. I—”

 

Draco sat back and folded his arms. “I want you to tell me. From the way you’re acting, I get the feeling it has something to do with me, something I won’t particularly like.”

 

“No, you won’t like it,” Harry snapped. “But fine, if you insist. I said something to Ron and Hermione about Moody being wrong to torture you. Hermione agreed with me, but Ron…”

 

“Weasley was all for torturing the shit out of an obnoxious, pissant little Death Eater like me?”

 

“Well, he didn’t put it that way. He just didn’t think it was wrong to use torture against Death Eaters. When I argued with him, he said it wasn’t the same as what had happened to me, since Moody was doing it to try and force you to talk, whereas the Death Eaters had been doing it to me for fun.”

 

“But they were trying to get information from you, too.”

 

“I know, and I pointed that out.”

 

“What did Weasley say?”

 

“He said he still thought it was all right to use it on Death Eaters, because they’re evil.”

 

“Meaning I was evil.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said irritably. “He knows you aren’t evil now, though. I don’t want you resenting him for this. You’ve been getting on all right, and I don’t want that screwed up.”

 

Draco just looked at Harry calmly. “Don’t worry, Weasley’s opinion of me means very little. And to be honest—and you may not like hearing this—I agree with him in principle.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Well, obviously I would never agree that _I_ should be tortured, but if one needs to get important information out of one’s enemy, I’m not against using extreme measures.”

 

“I see.” Harry considered this. “I understand your point, and Ron’s, but I still can’t agree with that. I can’t support the use of torture as a means of gathering information.”

 

“Then we’ll agree to disagree. And we’ve gotten a little off track. I think the point you were trying to make was that, especially having experienced torture yourself, you are morally opposed to it. And now you’re wrestling with the fact that you used it against my crazy, evil aunt who did horribly painful and vicious things to you that would have killed a lesser man. You now think you should feel guilty for getting some revenge on a woman who held you captive, cursed you, tortured you, cut off part of your ear, starved you—oh, and killed your godfather and tried to kill you. Am I right?”

 

“Well, yes,” Harry said, a bit awkwardly. “When you put it that way…”

 

“It sounds like a person would be completely justified in taking a little revenge against someone who’d done all that to them? Yes, I completely agree.”

 

Harry wet his lips. “But if I feel torture is morally wrong—and I still feel that way—what kind of person does it make me that I could use it against her? Use it against her and not regret it in the slightest?”

 

“It makes you human,” Draco snapped. “You shouldn’t regret it. Stop being so hard on yourself!”

 

“I can’t help it, Draco. I don’t regret what I did to her. I don’t feel guilty. I guess what concerns me the most is that I don’t. And that I…well, that I was able to do to her what I did, magically speaking.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I used Unforgivables, Draco, some very Dark magic. You told me you didn’t think I was capable of using the Killing Curse against anyone besides Voldemort or in self-defence. But I did. I killed at will. And I did more than that. I tortured at will and was able to do so because I meant it. I used Imperius to keep her from trying to escape, and therefore making it so she wasn’t able to defend herself. I not only broke my own moral rules, but I was _able_ to break them using magic in a way that you yourself said only Dark wizards did.”

 

“You aren’t a Dark wizard. No matter what you did, you aren’t a Dark wizard. Get that out of your head, right now. You—”

 

“I don’t think I’m a Dark wizard now,” Harry interrupted what was sure to be quite a tirade.

 

Draco sat back as his mouth snapped closed. “Well, that’s good. Because you aren’t. What did you mean, then?”

 

“I meant I…” Harry hesitated, trying to think of the right words. “I meant I know some things about myself I really don’t like. I’m not a Dark wizard, Draco, but I think I’m a little closer to where you stand on the side of the line than you think I am.”

 

“Where I stand?”

 

“You said you weren’t fully a Dark wizard, but you were in part because of what you could do with harmful magic simply because you could mean it when you needed to. I didn’t know how to respond to that at the time, but I’ve thought about it a lot since then. And I understand what you mean now. Neither of us are Dark wizards. But both of us have a little Darkness inside us. It’s something I’m going to have to learn to live with.”

 

“Just because you did to Bellatrix exactly what she did to you—down to using Imperius to make her as defenceless as you were—doesn’t mean you have to call yourself Dark from now on,” Draco argued.

 

“It’s not just that, Draco, and you know it. I know it, though it’s something I’ve denied, both to others and myself. I used Dark magic in battle. A lot. I used it without a qualm then, and I don’t regret using it now. I killed using Dark magic. I caused pain using Dark magic. Yes, I used it because I was fighting a bloody war against Dark wizards using it against me. But I also used it for revenge. And I did all of it because I wanted to, and I was able to do it because I meant it.” He looked levelly at Draco. “That makes me a little Dark. Some might argue a lot Dark, but…”

 

“They wouldn’t be taking into consideration the circumstances and the reasons behind your ability to use Dark magic,” Draco concluded for him.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Now that the war’s over, I have no plans to ever use Dark magic again. So I feel that keeps it to being just a little Dark. And I think the same applies to you.”

 

Draco considered this. Was he only a little Dark? He felt like he was a hell of a lot Darker than Harry ever could be, but he knew he’d changed. Harry had changed him.

 

“If you’d said that to me a couple of months ago, I would have laughed at you. I was much more than a little Dark. I lived as a Death Eater, for fuck’s sake. I was raised with Dark magic.”

 

“Circumstances, Draco.”

 

“Yes, I know, which is why I didn’t laugh just now when you said I was only a little Dark. I don’t think I’d ever really considered circumstances before. I’m still not an inherently good person like you are, Harry, but I’m not as bad as I could have become. I’m not like my father, or even close to being like him—he was a sadist, and towards the end, an insane one. I could have gone Dark, perhaps not as Dark as him or my aunt, but I could have easily become a much Darker wizard.” He smiled at Harry. “Thank you for saving me from that.”

 

“Me?”

 

Draco chuckled. “Yes, you. I’d be a much different person without you, Harry, without the light you put inside me.” He shook his head. “Merlin, that sounds soppy.”

 

Harry smiled. “I like it, though.”

 

“Well, any soppiness is all your fault,” Draco retorted, smiling.

 

“I’ll accept the blame for that,” Harry said easily. “And I love you too.”

 

“I guess we make a nicely matched couple,” Draco observed, “what with both of us being a little Dark.”

 

Harry laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wow. Heavy discussion for it still to be this early.”

 

“You needed to talk about your dream. Are you better now?”

 

“Yes, I really am. It really wasn’t as bad last night. The beginning of the dream was the worst, but I got through it better. Maybe it’s a turning point for me. Maybe I’ll be able to move on more now that the war is over.”

 

“I hope so,” Draco said. “I really hope so. But I’m here for you, regardless.”

 

“I know. I appreciate it.” Harry slapped his palms against his thighs. “Well, what the hell are we to do with ourselves today? No training, no battles, no research. No press conferences or awards ceremonies or meetings.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at Draco. “I think I know one thing we could do.”

 

Draco smirked. “With the way you’re smiling, it can only be one of two things: sex or Quidditch.”

 

“I was thinking of Quidditch, as none of those things I just mentioned that used to dominate our lives ever stopped us from having sex, but hey, I’m up for both.”

 

“Quidditch first, sex later,” Draco decided. “Then we can take a nap.”

 

Harry grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-five

 

 

“I’ve thought of a plan to keep you safe from attacks—at least until things settle down a little around here.”

 

“You mean keep _us_ safe,” Harry corrected as he forked some beans into his mouth. They were having dinner with Remus when Draco made his announcement.

 

“Yes, whatever. We’re going to get out here. Get out of Britain. We’re going to travel.”

 

“Travel?” Harry lifted his brows.

 

“Yes,” Draco said. “You said you would like to travel more, and I enjoy it, so why not do it now? It would be fun, and serve the additional purpose of getting you out of the public eye without having to use the bodyguards neither of us want.”

 

“Hmmm,” Harry considered. “It would be fun to see more of the world.”

 

“I like the idea,” Remus put in. “And you have plenty of time before school begins again.”

 

“I’m glad they decided just to have everyone do over last year,” Harry commented. “Simpler, and more fair for us seventh years who otherwise would be stuck without full qualifications for a job in the future.”

 

“Absolutely,” Remus agreed.

 

“Travel,” Harry said again. “I like it. I really enjoyed going to Rome. I wouldn’t mind going back, seeing some more. And I’d love to go other places.”

 

“Then it’s settled,” Draco said in satisfaction. “Now we just need to plan where we’ll go. What would you most like to see? The Eiffel Tower? The Great Wall?”

 

“How about India and the Taj Mahal?” Harry suggested, grinning. “I really like a good curry.”

 

Draco snorted. “I see we’ll be making our travel plans based partly on your stomach’s preferences.”

 

“One does have to eat, and since one does, why not eat what one likes?” Harry pointed out reasonably, still grinning.

 

“Before you set off on your adventure,” Remus interjected before Draco could retort, “I was wondering if you’d like to go to Godric’s Hollow, Harry. It may be too soon after the war, and if you’d prefer to wait, that’s absolutely fine. But I wanted to offer, so you know I’m available to go with you there, if you want, any time.”

 

Harry toyed with his shepherd’s pie. “I would like to go. I’d like very much to go, and of course I’d want to go with you, so you can show me around.”

 

“Would you like to go soon, or after you get back from your travels?”

 

“I’d like to go before we set off. I’m very curious about it, especially now that I’ve actually been there, even though I really didn’t have time to see much. But from what I saw, it looked very…quaint.”

 

“That’s a good word to describe Godric’s Hollow,” Remus agreed. “Well, when would you like to go?”

 

“Why not tomorrow?” Harry suggested. “Is that all right with you, Draco?”

 

“Sure,” Draco shrugged. “I must admit, I’m a bit curious about the town myself.”

 

“We can skip the Aurors,” Harry said firmly. “Death Eaters wouldn’t be looking for us there.”

 

Draco thought this over. “You’re probably right.”

 

“I’d like to invite Hermione and Ron to go, if the two of you don’t mind,” Harry said, looking at Draco.

 

Draco sighed. “Must you?”

 

“I’d like to. They’re my best friends. I feel like they’d be interested in seeing it. Especially Hermione.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I was only joking, Harry. You can invite whomever you’d like. We’re going for you.”

 

“Great,” Harry said. “I’ll Floo them, see if tomorrow is good for them.”

 

 

*******************************************************

 

Harry stood and stared at what remained of the house where he’d lived as a baby—the house where his parents had died, and where the course of his life had been set. 

 

There was more left than he’d expected, but as what he’d expected had been a pile of rubble, it didn’t take much to beat those expectations. Most of the front wall of the house still stood; the broken windows still contained jagged pieces of glass. The door was damaged, but mostly intact.

 

“The interior took most of the damage,” Remus said, reading his thoughts. “That, and the back wall and the roof. I think Voldemort and the Death Eaters must have come in through the back, destroying part of the wall to get past the wards. Without that support, and with the destruction caused by the fighting inside, most of the roof eventually collapsed.When it did, it took out half of the first story.”

 

“I see,” Harry said. He stepped forward but then hesitated. “Can I get past the wards?”

 

“Yes,” Remus said. “You’re tied to the wards by blood.”

 

“How?” Harry asked, confused. “I thought the original wards were broken when the house was attacked. Surely the wards up now were cast later.”

 

“I don’t know how he did it exactly,” Remus said slowly. “But Dumbledore told me he used some of your father’s blood to re-establish the wards after you were removed from the house and sent to the Dursleys. He said something about it being the best protection he could provide for the property.”

 

“He used blood magic to ward the property?” Hermione asked, obviously surprised—and she sounded a little disapproving as well.

 

“Not all blood magic is evil, Granger,” Draco said in what he considered to be an admirably even tone of voice. He’d never known anyone to be so black and white in their thinking about magic before Granger. “Using blood to establish wards for a property is common among pure-bloods. Dumbledore would know this. As James Potter was a pure-blood, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had used blood to erect the original wards. It’s very practical. And in most cases, very secure.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermione conceded, though Harry privately thought she was letting it go for his sake more than because of Draco’s explanation.

 

“How do I let the rest of you in?” Harry asked, moving the conversation along.

 

Remus taught Harry the proper spell. Then Harry looked at his friends. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go in alone first.”

 

“Of course,” Remus said. “Take your time. However much you need. But be careful.”

 

The others nodded firmly, and Harry took a deep breath. He approached the front door and shoved it open—it stuck a little, so it required a bit of effort, but he got it open enough he could get in. He knew he could have gotten in just by climbing over some piles of rock, but as silly as it might have been, he wanted to go in through the door.

 

He took his first look around at what had been his home. Remus had been right; there was a lot of destruction. The wooden mantle over the fireplace was partly burned, the walls were scarred and pocked with holes where spells had blasted against them, and furniture lay scattered and overturned. He crunched over some broken glass as he stepped further inside what had obviously been the living room. He could see the kitchen straight back; he could also see the back yard, as three-quarters of the back wall of the house only existed as piles of wood and stone. The roof over the kitchen was mostly gone as well, allowing sunlight to pour in, though the section of the ceiling under which he stood was intact. Everything smelled of mildew and rot.

 

His eyes were drawn to the stairs leading up to the first floor. He didn’t know what had happened, of course, but he imagined his father running down those stairs, wild-eyed and furious, to defend his family. He saw him fighting, and in his imagination, James Potter fought valiantly, and held off the Death Eaters for some time before finally falling in a flash of green light.

 

Eyeing the damaged staircase a bit warily, Harry cast some spells to hopefully keep it from collapsing—and added a cushioning spell for good measure, in case he fell through. His feet felt heavy as he slowly forced them up the steps; his mouth was as dry as dust, and his heart was beating too fast in his tight chest.

 

There were only two rooms remaining, both of them right at the top of the stairs—the rest of the floor had collapsed into the kitchen. The room to his left had obviously been his parents’ room. He took a moment to look around, imagine them there, before he was inexorably drawn to the doorway across the corridor.

 

There was no door, though he was sure there had been originally. Surprisingly, the room that had served as his nursery had suffered very little damage. Well, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising—Voldemort had come into that room with a very specific purpose. Then he’d encountered his mother. He knew the words that had been exchanged between them; he’d heard them when the Dementors were near, and many times afterwards in his dreams. They echoed through his head now as he saw his mother standing in front of the cot that still stood against the side wall, bodily protecting him from the dangerous wizard. He heard Voldemort telling her she didn’t have to die. But she had died. Died in a burst of green light, protecting him. Protecting him with her love in ways she didn’t even know at the time. 

 

In his mind’s eye, he saw Tom Riddle, still handsome and strong, approach the crying, dark-haired baby in the cot. He didn’t have any memories of this part, but he imagined how Voldemort’s cruelly triumphant laugh would have sounded as he lifted his wand to murder the defenceless child he believed to be the greatest threat against him.

 

Harry instinctively closed his eyes as he envisioned the green light of the Killing Curse coming towards him. He had no idea what had happened next—he’d been scarred with the lightning bolt, of course, but what had happened to Voldemort? Had he retained any semblance of a body, or had he simply vanished like a ghost, still existing, but non-corporally? He would never know the answers to those questions, of course. He supposed the answers really didn’t matter.

 

After a while, he left the room and went back downstairs. He invited his friends inside and wandered around the living room while they looked around, examining knick-knacks, half-heartedly looking for anything that might be something he could keep as a reminder of his family.

 

He trekked back upstairs with the others, showed them the two bedrooms. He took more time to look around his parents’ room. While there didn’t appear to be any damage from fighting, time and the elements had taken their toll.

 

He was examining a lamp, trying to decide if he wanted to keep it, when his hand brushed across the wood of the bedside table it was on. He felt a tingle and immediately stepped back, withdrawing his wand. He watched in surprise as the wood shimmered, and the table melted away, leaving a small, ornate safe in its place.

 

He stared at it for a moment before reaching out to smooth his hand over the top of it. The metal was cool to the touch at first, but it slowly warmed under his hand and caused his skin to tingle again. When he crouched and used _Lumos_ to the see the front more clearly, he saw it was decorated with what looked to be a family crest. The Potter family crest.

 

“Hey!” he called out. “Come see what I found!”

 

The others wandered in, and he heard some footsteps on the stairs—someone had obviously gone back down while he hadn’t been paying attention.

 

“Look,” he said, pointing at the safe.

 

“Where did that come from?” Remus asked, surprised. “I never saw it here before.”

 

“It was concealed.” Harry explained what had happened when he’d touched the table.

 

“Cool,” Ron said, bending over to look at the safe more closely. “Looks really old, like one my dad has. Have you tried to open it?”

 

“Not yet.” Harry reached out and pulled at the handle, but the door didn’t open. He idly traced the keyhole, disappointed he didn’t have the key. He’d hoped it would be unlocked.

 

“May I?” Draco asked. He pushed his way forward and ran his hand over the front of the safe. “When you touched it, did you feel anything?”

 

Harry looked at Draco in surprise. “Do you feel it, too?”

 

“No, I don’t feel anything. But I’m not a Potter.”

 

Harry blinked. “It’s warded against anyone but a Potter opening it? Then why couldn’t I do it?”

 

Draco shook his head. “It would likely open for anyone who had the key, like your mother. If it’s like Malfoy safes, you don’t need the key to open it. Only your blood.”

 

“More blood magic?” Hermione said. “I didn’t realise all pure-bloods used it for so much.”

 

“By ‘all,’ do you mean Light ones in addition to Dark ones?” Draco asked, a bit of annoyance in his voice.

 

“Well…” Hermione replied, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“The one my dad has can be opened with his blood,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

 

Hermione looked shocked by Ron’s statement. “Your parents use blood magic?”

 

“For some things,” Ron said, apparently unconcerned. “I hate to agree with Malfoy about anything, but he’s right in that pure-blood families use blood magic occasionally. My parents don’t use it for much—they didn’t use it for wards on the house for years, seeing as how we always have so many people coming and going all the time, but they started using the blood wards again after the war really started up. Don’t you remember me helping Dad strengthen the wards on the house? You were there, in the house with Mum.”

 

Hermione just stared at him. “You used blood magic for that? And you added me as an…approved visitor then?”

 

“Yep. The same way Harry let us in today.”

 

Draco had to bite his tongue against pointing out that having people coming and going made the house less secure, and therefore made stronger wards even more important, but that was the Weasley family for you. He’d never understand people like them. At least they’d had enough common sense to start using them again during the war. He found Granger’s reaction to learning her boyfriend’s family used blood magic pretty funny, though. Perhaps it might teach her that all aspects of magic didn’t fall into neat categories of good and bad. 

 

Harry found this conversation to be interesting, but he was impatient to try opening his safe. “Is there a special way I have to go about using my blood to open this safe?” he asked Draco.

 

“Just drip a drop of blood on the lock.”

 

Harry used his wand and made a small cut on his finger. Then he held it over the lock until one drop fell. There was a hissing sound and a stream of what looked like blue smoke poured out. It startled Harry a little as it swirled around him, enveloping him completely. The smoke seemed to sigh. Then it melted away and the safe popped open.

 

“Cool,” Harry said.

 

“Interesting,” Draco commented. “Ours is different. The first time my father let me open one of the safes, there was a flash of light instead of the smoke.”

 

Harry looked at Ron. “What happens with yours?”

 

Ron furrowed his brow. “I was pretty young when my dad let me open the safe the first time. I think there was a rainbow.”

 

Harry laughed. “A rainbow?”

 

Ron smiled. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a rainbow.”

 

“You both said ‘the first time.’ So it won’t happen every time I open it?”

 

Draco shook his head. “No. But we can talk about all this later, Potter. Aren’t you dying to know what’s inside?”

 

Harry glanced at the safe. Whereas he’d been so very eager to open the safe, he was now strangely reluctant to look inside. What if there was nothing? It would be a crushing disappointment. But he’d never know if he didn’t look.

 

He swung the safe door open. He lit his wand again and peered inside. “There are some books.” He pulled them out, one by one, turning each over in his hands before he laid them on the bed. None of them had any titles or any indication as to what they were.

 

Next he pulled out a small package wrapped in soft cream cloth. When he opened it, he found a small, white dress for a baby with a small matching cap and booties.

 

“It must be your naming gown,” Remus said.

 

“Naming gown?” Harry gave Remus a puzzled look.

 

“Wizards don’t have christening ceremonies like Muggles do, but naming ceremonies are traditional. They usually happen within a few days of a baby’s birth.”

 

Harry held the gown up and tried to imagine himself as a baby small enough to wear the tiny thing. It was hard to picture.

 

“Anything else in there?” Draco asked.

 

Harry pushed his wand further inside the dark safe and spied something in the very back. He reached in and pulled out a small, black pouch tied with a red drawstring. Curious, he opened it and dumped the contents out into his palm. It was an ornate gold key.

 

“It’s a Gringotts key, isn’t it?”

 

“Looks like one,” Draco agreed.

 

“I’ve already got a key for the Potter vault. Perhaps this is an extra.”

 

Draco snorted. “Goblins don’t give out extra keys. You’ve got a second vault.”

 

Harry looked at him, eyes wide and curious. “I wonder what’s in it. I mean, the vault I have is money. Do you think something other than money might be in this one?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” He frowned. “I suppose I should be looking at the Malfoy vaults, now that they’re mine. I’ll have to go to Malfoy Manor to get the keys.”

 

‘And to look for any clues that might tell me what happened to Mother,’ he thought to himself. She’d been on his mind for days, but he hadn’t mentioned it to Harry. It wasn’t like there was anything Harry could do.

 

“We’ll go,” Harry promised him, “as soon as possible.” He gave Draco a knowing look. “I know there are several reasons you’d like to go to the Manor.”

 

Harry knew him pretty well, Draco mused. He must have known Draco was thinking about his mother.

 

“Is that all in the safe?” Ron asked, drawing Harry’s attention away from Draco.

 

Harry double-checked, but the safe was now empty. “That’s all.” He glanced at the books on the bed. “I guess I’ll take all these home, see what they are.”

 

“Would you like to look around some more?” Remus asked.

 

“Maybe you should touch more of the furniture, in case there are other things concealed that only you can reveal,” Hermione suggested.

 

Harry nodded and set about touching everything in the room, then did the same in the nursery and downstairs. He didn’t find anything else.

 

“Well, it was worth a try,” he said. “I think I’m done here, for now at least. Perhaps we can get something to eat in town before we go home.”

 

The others agreed, and they had lunch in a pub. Harry was approached, very politely, by several people as they walked through the town. He was of course thanked for saving the world from Voldemort, and once Harry introduced his companions, all of them were thanked for their role in saving Godric’s Hollow. But mostly the people commented on his family. He was told several times it was amazing how much he looked like James, and one witch said the town wasn’t the same without a Potter living there and hoped he’d consider settling there in the future. He wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before.

 

Hermione and Ron Apparated back to the Burrow. Once Harry was back at Grimmauld Place, he carried the books to the drawing room. Barely waiting for Draco and Remus to get settled in their own chairs, he opened the one on top. It was a ledger of some sort, filled with columns of numbers.

 

“I reckon this is an accounting of my vault—the vault I’ve been using, that is.” He was disappointed; a financial ledger was rather boring.

 

He put it aside and opened the second book. He was surprised—and delighted—to see a picture of himself on the first page.

 

“It’s me, as a baby,” he said excitedly, holding the book out to show Draco and Remus. He watched his baby self wiggle a bit in his sleep before he flipped the page and found a birth announcement written on cream parchment. He read about himself—how much he had weighed at birth, how long he’d been, and the exact time he’d come into the world: 11:42 pm.

 

“If I’d been born just twenty minutes later, the prophecy wouldn’t have applied to me,” he said softly. “Just think how different my life would have been. My parents might still be alive. I might have never even met the Dursleys. I would have always known I was a wizard. And I wouldn’t have been the one destined to kill Voldemort. Everything would be so different.”

 

“And better,” Draco commented. “Your life would have been better and much easier.”

 

“Maybe,” Harry responded thoughtfully. “But I think things happened as they were meant to.” He smiled at Draco. “I’d hate to think we wouldn’t be together now, if things had been different. My life wouldn’t be better without you.”

 

A bit disquieted, Draco sat back and thought about Harry’s comment. If Voldemort hadn’t marked Harry, if the prophecy hadn’t applied to Harry, his life would likely be very different, too. And it probably wouldn’t include Harry, at least not as a lover. The war had thrown them together in such a way that they’d been able to find one another, so to speak. He knew it was very selfish, but as much as he hated to think about all of the pain Harry had experienced in his life as a result of the prophecy, he was very glad things weren’t different.

 

Realising Harry was looking at him questioningly, Draco smiled a little. “Just thinking about how different my life would be, too.” He didn’t want to get mushy in front of Lupin, so he hoped Harry was clever enough to know his life wouldn’t be better if things were different either.

 

Harry’s smile told Draco he understood. “Maybe we’d still have gotten together. I think we’re meant to be together. So perhaps Neville would have lived my life instead, and…”

 

“Longbottom?” Draco interrupted. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

 

“Neville was born the day before me. Voldemort could have applied the prophecy to him instead of me.”

 

Draco was appalled and didn’t bother to hide it. “Sweet Merlin, we’d have all been doomed.”

 

Harry scowled at Draco. “Neville is a good person, a loyal friend, and he’s braver than most people give him credit for. He fought with us in the Department of Mysteries. Stood up to your aunt, in fact.”

 

Draco was surprised. “He did?”

 

“Yes, he never backed down. She used the Cruciatus on him, but he didn’t give up. He was injured, has his nose broken amongst other things, but he still didn’t stop fighting. In fact, he and I were the last two left at the end. Everyone else was down.”

 

“Neville was very courageous,” Remus agreed quietly.

 

“It’s rather hard to believe. That’s certainly not the Longbottom I saw at school.”

 

“You mean the one you tormented at school,” Harry said, a bit sharply.

 

Draco looked at him, his eyes a little cool, and said evenly. “We’ve already had this discussion.”

 

Harry blew out a breath. He reminded himself he wasn’t in love with a nice man. Or at least, not one who’d been very nice as a child. And he had accepted that. It wasn’t fair to pick at Draco about it after everything had been settled.

 

“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding. “I’m sorry.”

 

Draco shrugged. Then he changed the subject. “What else is in that book?”

 

Harry glanced back down at the book in his lap; he’d almost forgotten it. He flipped a page. “More stuff about me. Apparently I liked to eat applesauce, but not carrots.” He laughed a little. “I still don’t like carrots.”

 

Remus chuckled. “You didn’t like some other vegetable either—I don’t remember exactly what it was, just that it was green. Your mother was trying to feed it to you, and you spat it back at her, right in her face. Sirius and I found it quite amusing; I think your father did, too, but he knew better than to laugh.”

 

Harry grinned. “You’ll have to tell me more stories. I’d like to hear them.”

 

“I will,” Remus promised.

 

“Well, I’ll read this more thoroughly later,” Harry said. “I want to see…”

 

He trailed off as he absently flipped through a little more of the book before closing it. He stared at one of the pages.

 

“What is it?” Draco asked, a little concerned by Harry’s expression.

 

“It’s…it’s a picture of my mother,” Harry said haltingly. “She’s pregnant. Under the picture she wrote…she wrote, ‘Eight months along and already in love with you.’”

 

He blinked rapidly and abruptly stood up. “Excuse me.”

 

He held back the tears until he reached his room. Then they came, despite his best efforts to stop them. He’d known his parents had loved him, of course he did. He’d known his mother’s love had protected him from being killed all those years ago. But to read her own words telling him she loved him, see them written in her own handwriting…

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. He was finally roused from them at the sound of Draco quietly closing the door behind him.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

 

Harry mustered up a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said, sitting down next to him on the bed. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“It would have gotten to me, too,” Draco said softly, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “It did, a little, actually. Remus, too.”

 

“Do you think it’s strange to miss people you don’t even remember?”

 

“Of course not. They were your parents, and they were taken from you. You may not have actual memories of them, but you know of them. And now you’re finally getting to know more about them, personal things. Things that help you know who they were better.”

 

“Yeah. It’s great, knowing more about them, knowing more about me, but it just hit me today, seeing what she herself had written. It wasn’t just being told by other people that my parents had loved me, it was like she was telling me herself.”

 

He looked at Draco. “And speaking of mothers…”

 

Draco stiffened a little. “Nice segue, Harry.”

 

“Sorry, if you’d rather not talk—”

 

“No, it’s all right.” Draco sighed. “I suppose I was just hoping I would have heard something from her or about her by now. I know she can’t reach me here, but she could have contacted Hogwarts. I guess it’s good I haven’t heard from the Aurors about them finding her body somewhere…”

 

“Don’t think that way,” Harry said firmly. “Why don’t we go to your house tomorrow?”

 

Draco looked away. “I’m not sure what I’ll find there. I’m afraid I’ll go home to find the house-elves have been keeping my mother’s body preserved for a proper burial.”

 

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t considered the fact that Narcissa’s body may very well be at Malfoy Manor, if Voldemort had indeed had her killed.

 

“He would have had my father do it,” Draco said softly, his voice bitter. “He would have probably wanted to witness her death, but Voldemort would have involved my father. Being forced to kill my mother would have served as punishment for my father.”

 

“Draco…”

 

Draco shook his head sharply. “I know, she might still be alive and in hiding. It just bothers me that I haven’t heard from her yet. It’s been a week.” He looked at Harry with eyes heavy with resignation. “I have to find out. I have to go to the Manor at some point. Maybe I’ll get some answers—even if they aren’t answers I like.”

 

The mention of Voldemort reminded Harry he’d had access to the Manor, and it started him thinking. “Perhaps we shouldn’t go without letting the Aurors check it out first. You said Voldemort had meetings there—could there be any Death Eaters hiding out there?”

 

“I suppose it’s possible,” Draco replied thoughtfully. “Unlikely though, as the house-elves wouldn’t have let them in if no one from the family was there to receive them. But my father wasn’t exactly in his right mind. He may have given them instructions to let Death Eaters in at any time. But I don’t think we need any Aurors. The house-elves wouldn’t allow any harm to come to me there. Or you, if I instructed them to protect you.”

 

“What if…what if your father told them not to obey you or whatever? To turn you away if you showed up? It seems like the kind of thing he might do.”

 

“He might have, but the order would be null and void now that he’s dead, and the Manor is mine.”

 

“Oh, all right. So what? We go to the Manor and just talk to the house-elves? Ask them if there’s any danger?”

 

“Yes. They will tell me exactly who is in the house, if there is anyone there at all.”

 

“And if there is?”

 

Draco’s eyes glinted. “Unless it’s my mother, I’ll be evicting them.”

 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t ask for Aurors?”

 

“If there are any Death Eaters there—which I highly doubt—there would only be one or two. I think we could handle them, Harry.”

 

“Well, of course we could, but...all right. Do you think the house-elves will be able to tell you anything about your mother?”

 

Draco shrugged. “If they know anything, they’ll tell me. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

“We’ll go tomorrow, then. We’ll go in and talk to the house-elves. You can get whatever you need from there, and you can look around for any messages your mother may have left for you as to where she was going. If we don’t learn anything about where she is that way, then when we travel, before we do any sightseeing, the first thing we’ll do is go to all the places where you own property.” 

 

Draco studied Harry’s face carefully. “You really wouldn’t mind doing that, would you? Give up doing something fun for yourself just to look for a woman you don’t even know.” He held up a hand before Harry could protest. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s just that…I know better, but it still surprises me sometimes how selfless you can be.”

 

“I’m not being selfless,” Harry denied. “She’s your mother, and I love you. What kind of partner would I be if I said, ‘Well, buck up, Draco, I’m sure your mother will turn up eventually. Let’s go hit a pub in Paris, shall we?’”

 

Draco laughed, as Harry had wanted him to. “I suppose that would be quite out of character for you. Very well. We’ll go tomorrow.” Draco frowned. “Before we go, maybe we can get an update on the investigation. I’ll write to Shacklebolt.”

 

“Good idea. Better yet, let’s go see him in person. I’ll Floo his office, get us an appointment,” Harry said, kissing Draco quickly before standing up. “I’m going to take a shower before I do, though. I just noticed I’m a bit grungy from exploring the house.” He tilted his head in invitation. “Care to join me?”

 

“Lead the way.”

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

 

“The Death Eater who attacked you is named Richard Wick.”

 

Harry coughed and tried not to laugh. “Dick Wick? The man who tried to kill me is called Dick Wick? You’re having us on.”

 

Kingsley’s lips twitched. “No.”

 

“His name suits his personality,” Draco put in dryly.

 

Kingsley looked at him sharply. “What do you know about him?”

 

Draco lifted a shoulder. “Not much. He liked to brag about making people watch as he killed their pets before he tortured or killed them.”

 

“He sounds like a real charmer,” Harry muttered. 

 

“Oh, he is,” Kingsley agreed. “We’ve questioned him under Veritaserum. He wasn’t at the Battle of Hogwarts—said he was on a business trip in Brazil, of all places. When he got back and learned of what had happened, he decided it was his responsibility to take revenge in the name of his Dark Lord. We’ve arrested the security employee he bribed. The guard’s brother was a Death Eater killed at the Battle of Little Whinging, and he admits to being a sympathiser.”

 

“You don’t suspect anyone else was involved?” Draco asked.

 

“No. Once we got him started talking, Wick seemed to enjoy telling us about how he’d planned everything, and he says his only accomplice was the security guard.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Harry said. “Thank you, Kingsley, for getting this resolved so quickly.”

 

“It was our top priority,” Kingsley said. “Now, as to the matter of protection for you, Harry. Have you made a decision?”

 

Harry glanced at Draco. “I’ll accept protection on two conditions: one, the Aurors are told to protect Draco as well, and two, only for times I’m out in a public wizarding area such as Diagon Alley. I won’t have them stationed outside my front door or following me to Hogwarts.”

 

“Those are acceptable terms,” Kingsley said. “You’ll have to give us some notice before you need an escort, however. You won’t be able to pop over to Diagon Alley on a whim.”

 

Harry shrugged. “That’s not a problem.”

 

“Very well. I’m glad you’re accepting the protection, Harry. And you’re right in that Draco is a target as well. Now, is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”

 

“No, thank you for your time, Kingsley. And thanks for catching the people involved in attacking me. We’ll see you later,” Harry said, standing.

 

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Harry and Draco headed to the area designated for Apparition from within the Ministry. After waiting in the queue for a few minutes, Draco Side-Along Apparated Harry to the front gates of Malfoy Manor.

 

Harry looked at him questioningly before his eyes registered comprehension. “Apparating directly into the Manor could be dangerous if there is anyone there who shouldn’t be.”

 

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “And I thought you might like the full effect.” He smiled, pleased to be able to show off his ancestral home to Harry.

 

Harry studied the ornately carved iron gates, which were adorned with what Harry assumed to be the Malfoy family crest. “I’m looking forward to seeing your home.”

 

Draco smiled and touched the centre panel of the gates, causing them to swing open soundlessly. Wands drawn just in case, Draco led Harry across the rolling expanse of lawn towards a tall, stately manor house that sat on a slight rise. Harry turned his head right and left, trying to take it all in while simultaneously keeping alert for danger. He was absolutely amazed at the sheer size of the property. It was beautiful, as was the enormous white manor. His lover came from the kind of wealth he could only imagine.

 

After a glance back at Harry, who nodded to indicate he was ready for trouble, Draco opened the front door. A house-elf appeared immediately.

 

“Master Malfoy!” it squeaked. “You is back!”

 

“Is there anyone here, Cedar? My mother? Anyone at all?”

 

“No, sir, Master Malfoy,” the elf assured him. “There is only house-elves being here since Mistress Malfoy left.”

 

“She left? When?” Draco’s relief was almost palpable.

 

“The day after you weren’t coming home,” Cedar said. “She told Cedar we was to be keeping the Manor safe. Then she left.”

 

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?” Draco asked, although he already knew the answer.

 

“No, Master, she wasn’t telling us.” Cedar looked distressed at not being able to answer Draco’s question in the affirmative.

 

“What kind of clothes did she pack?” Harry asked.

 

Cedar looked at Harry, then to Draco.

 

“Cedar, this is Harry Potter,” Draco said. His voice and demeanour became very serious. “You are to treat him as you would a Malfoy, in every respect.”

 

Cedar’s eyes opened so wide Harry thought they might pop out of his head. “Master Malfoy is bringing home a mate?” Then the elf blanched and rushed to bang his head against the closest wall. “Bad Cedar! Cedar is not to be asking personal questions of Master! Bad Cedar!”

 

“Cedar, stop!” Harry cried, dismayed by the elf’s reaction. It reminded him of Dobby, and he didn’t like it when house-elves punished themselves.

 

Cedar froze, and his gaze darted from Harry to Draco and back to Harry. “Master Potter is wanting Cedar to stop?”

 

“Yes, I want you to stop.” Harry looked at Draco, who appeared to be a little amused. “ _Master_ Potter?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Draco said, looking a little puzzled. “Didn’t you hear me tell him to treat you as a Malfoy?”

 

“Well, yes, but…that doesn’t mean he considers me his master now, does it?”

 

Draco smiled a little. “I suppose you wouldn’t know much about house-elves and the families they serve, would you? Sorry, I forgot about that. When I instructed him to treat you as a Malfoy in every respect, I elevated your status to that of a Malfoy. As far as the house-elves are concerned, that means you _are_ a Malfoy now. Trust me, it’s not something that’s done very often.” He hesitated and Harry thought he actually looked a little embarrassed. “In fact, it’s generally only done for…spouses. Or someone at least betrothed to a Malfoy.”

 

Harry’s brows lifted. He could tell Draco was a little uncomfortable, and although the idea of being Draco’s husband one day certainly didn’t bother him, it wasn’t something he was prepared to discuss with a house-elf as an audience. So he decided a little a humour might help. “If you’re proposing, you’d best have a ring for me.”

 

Something Harry couldn’t decipher flashed in Draco’s eyes before he smiled slightly. “I’d never be so gauche as to propose without a ring. Or while standing in a doorway. Please, Harry, come in. Welcome to Malfoy Manor. Be at home.”

 

Draco shot a look at Cedar as Harry looked around the entrance hall. Cedar’s eyes widened before he jerked his head in a nod and disappeared with a _pop._

 

“Cedar will bring refreshments to the drawing room,” Draco said. He led Harry down a wide corridor adorned with paintings and fancy mirrors. Some of the paintings were scenic, but there were several empty frames; Harry assumed the inhabitants were off visiting somewhere else—after all, nothing interesting had been going on at Malfoy Manor for some time.

 

The drawing room was done in shades of blue and cream and was simply lovely. Assuming Narcissa Malfoy had been the one in charge of decorating the Manor, Harry decided Draco’s mother had very nice taste.

 

“She did as you’d hoped,” he said to Draco. “She obviously went into hiding.”

 

“Yes.” Draco had offered Harry a seat, but he was wandering the room, touching things periodically. Cedar and another elf popped in with tea and a tray of biscuits. Draco dismissed them with a wave.

 

“Shall I pour?” Harry asked, unsure of Draco’s mood.

 

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. If you don’t mind.”

 

“What’s bothering you? Not knowing where your mother is?”

 

“No. I mean, yes, of course, I want to know where she is. I’m immensely relieved to know she left. It’s just…it’s just a little strange being back here, and I didn’t expect it to be.”

 

“You’ve been away for a while.”

 

“I’ve been away for much longer periods at Hogwarts. I guess there is just so much that has changed in my life since I left. When I left, I didn’t know if I would ever stand here again.”

 

Harry’s heart clutched. “You risked so much when you rescued me. You risked everything.”

 

Draco looked at Harry quietly for a moment. “It was worth it. It would have been worth it if I’d lost everything. You mean more to me than anything I own, and if I hadn’t taken the risk and freed you, I’d never have what I have with you now.”

 

Harry smiled and rose. He crossed to the fireplace where Draco stood and drew him into his arms. He kissed him, warm and slow.

 

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but thank you again. Thank you again for saving my life and making what we have now possible.”

 

Draco smiled before easing out of Harry’s arms. “Enough of being melancholy and soppy. I’m not being a very good host. Are you hungry? We could eat lunch, and then I could show you around the Manor while I collect my things and look for any clues Mother may have left me.”

 

“That sounds great.”

 

Draco snapped his fingers and the house-elf who’d brought the tea with Cedar appeared. “Elm, Harry and I would like some lunch. In the solarium, please.”

 

“Right away, Master Malfoy!” Elm squeaked and vanished.

 

“I think you’ll like the solarium,” Draco commented as he motioned for Harry to follow him. “Mother enjoys plants and flowers and such.”

 

“Is that why you have house-elves named for trees?” Harry asked. He didn’t know many house-elves, but naming them for trees seemed a bit odd.

 

Draco chuckled. “No. That was a tradition my great-grandmother started. Apparently, she had a great fondness for trees. She’s the reason we have such a wide variety on the property here.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said. He still thought naming house-elves for trees was odd.

 

They enjoyed a nice lunch and then Draco showed Harry around the Manor, which took quite a bit of time due to its size—and Harry still didn’t see everything. It was grand and imposing and overwhelming in many ways, but it was beautiful, and Draco’s pride in it was obvious.

 

As they were walking, Harry cleared his throat and broached the question he’d been very hesitant to ask, for a variety of reasons. “Now that you know the Manor is safe, will you be moving back here soon?”

 

Draco looked at Harry with that completely neutral expression Harry could never decipher and therefore didn’t like. “Would you be willing to live here?”

 

“I…I hadn’t really thought about it,” Harry said, a bit awkwardly. “But this is your home, and if you want me here, I mean, if you’re asking me to live here with you, live together with you, then, um, yes.” He fumbled to a stop. “Are you asking me to live with you?”

 

Draco gave him an odd look. “Of course. Did you think we’d live separately?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Like I said, I hadn’t thought too much about it until recently, but when you started talking about going to the Manor, it sort of hit me that you have a home to go back to. Grimmauld Place is my home, but it’s just temporary for you. And with the war, we never really talked about…after. I didn’t know—I didn’t want to assume—I mean, living together—moving in together—it’s a big step, isn’t it?”

 

“We’ve been living together for months,” Draco pointed out, still looking a bit puzzled.

 

“I know, but that was because of the war, and it was necessary for safety reasons, but the war’s over now, so we don’t _have to_ live together anymore. You don’t have any reason to stay at Grimmauld. You have your own home. And…we never discussed anything like living together—on a permanent basis, I mean.”

 

“First of all, I have a reason to be at Grimmauld: you,” Draco said, with a slightly exasperated look at Harry.

 

“I know that, but…I mean, you living there is still just temporary. You’ll move back here to the Manor. I just realised I hadn’t thought about what that would mean for us.”

 

“You’re right, we’ve never officially discussed our post-war living arrangements,” Draco said slowly. “I just assumed, since we’re living together now, that we’d keep on that way. You said living together is a big step, and I suppose it is. Does that mean you don’t want to…I mean, if you feel you’re not ready or whatever, if it’s not what you want…”

“No, I…I can’t imagine living separately from you. I don’t want to.” He shrugged again. “I just know it’s usually a big deal when people decide to move in together…I didn’t know how you felt about it.”

 

Draco chuckled a little. “I feel just fine about it. Do you?”

 

Harry smiled. “I feel just fine about it, too. So…we’re going to move in here? I mean, I’m going to move in here?” He looked up at the grand staircase where they’d stopped. “Wow. The boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs sure has come up in the world.” 

 

Draco laughed and took Harry’s arm. “Come, let me finish showing you _our_ home.”

 

They explored the first floor, which didn’t take too long as they were mostly empty guest rooms.

 

He liked Draco’s room best. It showed some of his personality. There was quite a bit of green and silver—Slytherin House pride—including a forest green bedspread beautifully embroidered with a silver dragon. There were pictures of Draco’s family and friends, and a few autographed bits of Quidditch memorabilia from some of the more famous players. All in all, the room was comfortably elegant.

 

“Your room suits you,” Harry observed. “I like the dragon. Hungarian Horntail?”

 

Draco smirked. “Yes. I was a bit put out my favourite type of dragon was the one you had to go up against during the Tournament. Of course, it also gave me even more incentive to hope the dragon knocked the shite out of you with her tail.”

 

Harry laughed. “Yes, I’m sure it did.” He cocked his head. “I hope I can learn to live with all the green.”

 

Draco shot him a look under his lashes as he looked up from the drawer he’d opened. “I happen to like green. But I suppose we could discuss redecorating.” He shrugged. “It’s not like we’ll be here much. First we’re travelling, then we’ll be at Hogwarts.” He paused again. “Harry, I should have asked…are you ok with leaving Grimmauld Place? I mean, it is your house, and you’ve made it your home.”

 

“It’s fine,” Harry assured him. “Grimmauld became my home out of necessity—it started to feel like home once we were together. But it wouldn’t feel like home anymore if you left. And Malfoy Manor is much more important to you than Grimmauld Place is to me.” He smiled. “It’s funny—when Dumbledore told me he wanted me to stay at number twelve, I balked. I didn’t want to think about living there, but I accepted it. Then Dumbledore said something about you living there with me, if I would allow it. It took me a minute to realise he was asking my permission because the house was mine! So, obviously, my connection to the house isn’t nearly as strong as or as important as yours is to this house. Mansion. Palace. Whatever.” Harry grinned.

 

“Manor. It’s called a manor house, you dolt,” Draco said. He was glad Harry honestly didn’t seem to mind leaving Grimmauld Place…he wasn’t sure what they’d do if they both wanted their respective homes to become _their_ home.

 

Harry wandered the room as Draco looked for any message his mother may have left and then packed some things. When he was finished, they went to Lucius Malfoy’s study. It was dark and rather severe in its furnishings. Harry again looked around at the various items on display in the room while Draco rummaged through the desk and a safe built into the wall. There was a family portrait from when Draco wasn’t much more than a baby. He kept smiling and waving his hands and bouncing on his mother’s lap, with both of his parents looking on indulgently. Harry liked it. It showed him a human side of the elder Malfoys.

 

The last room Draco searched was his parents’ room, but he found nothing to indicate where Narcissa might have gone.

 

“Can you tell what clothes she packed?” Harry repeated his earlier question, which had never been answered.

 

“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what would be missing from her wardrobe,” Draco replied, a puzzled frown on his face. “Why did you ask that?”

 

“I thought maybe if we knew what kind of clothes she took, it might give us an idea of where to start looking. You know, if she took lightweight clothes instead of coats, she might be somewhere warm.”

 

“Perhaps you should reconsider being an Auror,” Draco said. “That’s very clever thinking.” He snapped his fingers and yet another house-elf appeared. Harry wondered if they were assigned to specific rooms or something.

 

“Cypress,” Draco said, with a sidelong glance at Harry’s muffled laugh, “do you know what items of clothing my mother took with her when she left?”

 

“Oh, yes, Master. Cypress was helping Mistress to pack. She packed many, many things.”

 

“Did she pack only winter things?”

 

Cypress wrinkled her brow. “No, Mistress was taking many different sorts of things. Coats and boots and sandals and summer robes.”

 

“Thank you. You may go.” Draco looked to Harry. “Sounds like she’s moving around. It’s a smart plan, but it may make it harder to find her.”

 

“We’ll find her,” Harry assured him. “We’ll look for however long it takes. And hopefully she’ll contact you soon.”

 

“Hopefully. Well, I’m done here. Are you ready to go?”

 

Harry nodded, but when they started to walk past Draco’s room on the way to the stairs, he stopped. “Hey, Draco. I think I told you how much I like your bed, didn’t I?”

 

Draco lifted a brow. “You said you liked the dragon.”

 

“Well, I liked the whole bed, really. It looked quite comfortable.”

 

A slow, knowing smile began to spread across Draco’s face. “I assure you, it’s very comfortable. Perhaps you’d like to try it out?”

 

Harry took Draco’s hand and pulled him closer. “Most definitely.”

 

Their lips met in a kiss, and Draco began walking Harry backwards into his room. They took their time, letting their hands and mouths wander. Draco’s fingertips incited little ripples of anticipation along Harry’s skin, and Harry’s tongue had Draco arching his head back and moaning.

 

Harry palmed Draco’s erection and stroked it. “How do you want to do this? Your bed, your choice.”

 

Draco cocked his head and took a moment to enjoy just looking Harry up and down. Harry felt the heat of his gaze and felt his skin flush.

 

“I want you to suck me, and then I want you on your hands and knees.”

Harry lifted a brow at the way Draco made his wishes known as more of a command than a request. Perhaps being at home, being reminded he was a Malfoy who owned a big, fancy manor house, had him feeling a little dominant. Whatever the reason, Harry didn’t mind. It was actually a bit of a turn-on.

 

Harry smiled slowly and kept his eyes on Draco’s face as he lowered his head and licked at Draco’s cock. He used his tongue and lips to bring Draco to full hardness before he felt Draco’s hand on the back of his head.

 

“I said suck me, not tease me.”

 

Definitely feeling a bit dominant, Harry decided. Willing to play along, he took Draco into his mouth and began to work him in earnest. Draco groaned, and his hand tightened in Harry’s hair. After a short time, Draco ordered Harry to stop, pulling on his hair a little.

 

“Hands and knees. Now.”

 

Harry complied, though he did so a bit more slowly than he might have done. He might let Draco order him around, but it didn’t mean he had to snap to do his bidding like a house-elf. Besides, it was fun to tease Draco.

 

Draco didn’t waste any time starting to prepare Harry. He wasn’t overly rough, but he wasn’t particularly gentle either. And he left Harry a little tight, something Harry didn’t mind at all.

 

He felt the head of Draco’s erection drag the cleft of his arse, over his entrance.

 

“Tell me how I’m going to fuck you,” Draco said softly, but his voice still held a note of command.

 

Harry almost replied automatically with “hard and fast” but caught himself. He could contribute to their subtle game.

 

“Any way you want to,” he answered in a low voice.

 

He heard Draco inhale sharply. “Any way I want to? Any way at all?”

 

“Yes. However you want. It’s your decision. Your decision completely.”

 

Draco pushed himself inside Harry, and Harry moaned a little at that first delicious sensation of being opened.

 

“No,” Draco said, a bit sharply. “I want you to be silent. Don’t make a sound.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure if he could or not, but he’d give it go. He nodded.

 

“Good.” Draco pushed in the rest of the way. He began fucking Harry with slow, measured strokes. “Gods, you’re so tight, Harry. Feels so fucking good.”

 

He shifted angles a little, and Harry had to clench his teeth together when he rubbed against his prostate. His body must have telegraphed his pleasure, though, because he heard Draco chuckle darkly.

 

“Like that, do you?” He gave a little jab, then another, and Harry struggled not to cry out in response to the bursts of pleasure. Draco was teasing Harry, and Harry knew it. Bloody bastard.

 

Draco kept at the slow, deep thrusts for a bit, and Harry discovered he had to bite back moans and sighs almost constantly. It was damn difficult not to express how good it felt having Draco moving so deliberately inside him. Their bodies rocked together, and Harry’s breath sped up.

 

Eventually the need for more began to claw at Harry, and he wanted to tell Draco to get on with it. Then he had to choke back a cry when Draco abruptly changed the pace and started giving it to him harder and faster. Oh, yes, perfect. Damn, it felt amazing.

 

“Oh, yeah, so good,” Draco muttered. He thrust harder and knew Harry had to be biting his tongue against making any sound. He was a bit surprised by the way Harry was going along with what had become a very pleasurable, though unplanned, game for Draco, but he certainly liked it. “Look at you, so hot. You know I like seeing you take me in, Harry.” Then he groaned as Harry tightened his muscles around him. “Oh, so fucking good.”

 

He began thrusting harder, but when he saw Harry reach back to take himself in hand, he slowed to almost a stop. “No, don’t touch yourself. Not yet.”

 

Harry’s hand hesitated, and he wanted to curse. He wanted to come, dammit. But he dropped his hand and concentrated on the feel of Draco’s cock working his hole hard and fast again. Listening to Draco groan and mutter behind him, Harry suspected Draco was being even more vocal than usual, just to torment him—and perhaps lure him into breaking the rule. Harry wasn’t going to let Draco win though—he’d keep his silence if he had to bite his lip to do it.

 

Fortunately, it wasn’t too much longer before Draco gasped, “Now, Harry. Come for me now. Want to feel you come.”

 

It didn’t take much more than Harry touching his aching cock to have him spurting his release. The rush of pleasure after holding back so long was intense, and Harry had no idea how he kept from moaning, much less shouting. As his head drooped down, Harry felt Draco come inside, a hot burst of warmth, and he worked to catch his breath. Oh, fuck, he felt good. Tired, but really damn good.

 

Draco withdrew and cleaned them up before stretching out on his back beside Harry, who had collapsed on his stomach. Harry’s hand reached over and took his. Harry’s thumb rubbing lightly against his palm felt nice.

 

“That was…interesting,” Harry finally said, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “Why did you tell me to be silent, of all things?”

 

“I don’t recall giving you permission to talk, love,” Draco drawled lazily, grinning. He laughed when Harry gave him a light slap on his side. He rolled over and caught Harry grinning back at him. “I don’t know why I told you to be silent. I guess when I realised we were going to play that kind of game, I wanted to challenge you.”

 

“Well, it was certainly a challenge,” Harry said dryly. “I never realised how many times I say things during sex. Or just make noise during sex. I guess I’m just as noisy as you are.”

 

It was Draco’s turn to give Harry a little slap for his cheeky comment. Harry just laughed. “You liked telling me what to do, didn’t you?”

 

Draco smirked. “Of course I did. Though, to be honest, I was a little surprised by you just going along with it.”

 

Harry shrugged. “I thought it might be entertaining to be fucked by a high and mighty Malfoy.”

 

“Oh, I see. You think being back here made me a bit more…”

 

“Bossy?” Harry suggested.

 

“I think I prefer ‘commanding,’” Draco said, sticking his nose in the air. “Has a much nicer ring.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, trying to keep a straight face. Draco rolled his eyes.

 

Harry yawned. “It wasn’t so bad being bossed around a little. But next time I get to do the bossing.”

 

Draco looked at him carefully. “I suppose that’s fair. But I…I wouldn’t want to take it any farther than we did just now. Keep it as a bit of fun. That’s all.”

 

Harry studied Draco’s expression and knew what he was thinking about. “Yes, I agree. This was fine, I assure you, but taking it any further…I’m not sure either of could handle that.”

 

“I know I couldn’t,” Draco said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. Then he cleared his throat. “So. Do you find the bed to be comfortable?”

 

Harry laughed. “Yes, you were right. It’s very comfortable. Thanks for letting me give it a try.”

 

“Any time,” Draco drawled. “I find I quite like having you in my bed. Are you too comfortable to move, or shall we go now?”

 

“Mmm,” Harry murmured, snuggling down. “I wouldn’t mind a nap.”

 

Draco found he wasn’t opposed to that idea at all. He pulled at Harry until he was spooned up against him, Harry’s back against his chest, and ran his hand lightly through Harry’s chest hair.

 

“Nice,” Harry said sleepily. “Love you.”

 

“Love you, too.”


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-six

 

 

“Draco!” Remus called up the stairs a couple of days later. “Your house-elf’s here with a message for you!”

 

Draco jumped away from Harry, who’d been snogging him leisurely, leading Harry to mutter a protest. Seeing Draco’s hopeful eyes kept him from complaining further, though, and he followed Draco as he practically ran down the stairs.

 

He slowed down before he reached the kitchen, walking a bit more sedately. Spying Cedar, he immediately asked, “What is it?”

 

“Cedar is having a message for Master Malfoy,” the elf said, a bit nervously. “But it is being private.”

 

Remus immediately excused himself and left the room. Harry looked at Draco, unsure of whether he wanted him to leave, too.

 

Draco’s hand on his arm gave him his answer. “Go ahead, Cedar.”

 

Cedar glanced at Harry, but went ahead with the message: “The Forbury Hotel, Room 21, Reading. 12, 42, 111. Come alone.”

 

Draco blinked. “Who gave you this message?”

 

“The message was coming by post owl, master. Cedar read it then the paper was bursting into flames.”

 

Draco exchanged a glance with Harry before saying, “Was there anything else, Cedar?”

 

“No, Master Malfoy.”

 

“You did very well following my instructions and bringing me the message. Bring any others that may come.”

 

“Yes, Master Malfoy!”

 

Recognising this as dismissal, the elf disappeared.

 

“Do you think it’s your mother?” Harry asked immediately.

 

“It has to be, doesn’t it?” Draco felt a painful, desperate hope in his chest. “Who else would it be?”

 

“It could be a trap,” Harry suggested hesitantly. “A Death Eater looking to get back at you.”

 

Draco thought about this. “I don’t think a Death Eater would think me foolish enough to meet an unknown person alone.”

 

“True,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “What do you know about The Forbury Hotel?”

 

“Nothing. I’ve never even heard it. I don’t know that I’ve ever been to Reading.”

 

“Are you going?”

 

“Yes, I have to. I have to see if it’s Mother.”

 

“You aren’t going alone,” Harry said firmly.

 

Draco shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m not stupid. There is still the chance this could be a trick. I’m assuming she’s kept up with the news and knows about us. So she doesn’t want you there. Well, that’s too bad.”

 

Harry nodded, glad Draco wasn’t arguing about him coming along. There was no way he was letting Draco go alone. “What time do you want to go? The message didn’t say.”

 

“Is there something wrong with now?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“I need to change clothes. So do you.”

 

“Good idea. I’d like to look decent the first time I meet your mother properly.” As he said the words, Harry suddenly felt a little nervous. He’d likely be meeting Draco’s _mother._ He’d seen her before, but now he was her son’s lover…he knew Narcissa hadn’t been a Death Eater, but he also knew Malfoys hadn’t generally been keen on Harry Potter in the past. Narcissa had supported Voldemort enough that she’d helped betray Sirius—and therefore Harry—a fact Harry wasn’t sure he could forgive and forget, even for Draco.

 

He’d never mentioned his issues with Narcissa to Draco before—Draco had feared she was dead, after all. He figured lots of people might be a bit nervous about meeting their boyfriend’s mother for the first time, but he had a bit of added baggage to consider. What if she completely disapproved? What if he couldn’t figure out a way to get along with her, knowing what she’d done?

 

Realising Draco was already at the top of the kitchen steps, Harry told himself firmly to forget about his issues with Narcissa, at least for today, and hurried to catch up with him. The moment they entered their room, he blurted out, “What if she still hates me?”

 

“She won’t, once she knows how I feel about you.”

 

“But she’s a Malfoy, and a Black, and…I’m a Potter.”

 

“The was is over, Harry. She was never a strong supporter of the Dark—Voldemort.”

 

“But…” Harry almost blurted out the story about Sirius, but held his tongue. It wasn’t the time.

 

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Draco said firmly. “Hurry up and change. Wear the navy trousers with a white shirt. No, a light blue one.”

 

Harry realised Draco was a bit nervous, too. It made him feel a little better.

 

Draco had to change clothes twice and spent longer than usual fussing with his hair. Harry twiddled his thumbs and tried to be patient. He considered how directly they should approach the hotel room’s door. Stand to the side in case someone was going to hex Draco the moment the door opened? Should he enter first? Draco would never let him do that, and if it were someone wishing Draco harm, he likely wouldn’t mind harming Harry as well, so that wasn’t a good strategy. It occurred to Harry that if the mysterious message sender was indeed Narcissa, she might not mind harming him, either.

 

“Ready?”

 

“I’ve been ready,” Harry said dryly, but he softened his words with a smile.

 

“All right, let’s go.”

 

“What were the Apparition coordinates again?”

 

“12, 42, 111.”

 

“Right.” Harry had never bothered to learn the theory behind Apparition coordinates; he knew they weren’t latitude and longitude, so he figured they’d been calculated using some complicated Arithmancy formula like the type Hermione had studied at Hogwarts. Those formulas always made his eyes cross.

 

They Apparated to the coordinates, wands at the ready. They arrived in an alleyway, behind a stack of cardboard boxes prepared for recycling. Draco swished his wand to end any Disillusionment spells that might be in effect, but no one appeared.

 

“So far, so good,” Harry muttered.

 

The hotel was elegant, and obviously small and exclusive. Just the type a Malfoy would stay at, Harry mused. Thick carpets were soft underfoot as they crossed the lobby and headed directly to room 21.

 

“Stand to the side, out of sight,” Draco said as they walked. “She may not open the door if she doesn’t think I’m alone. She’s being very, very careful for some reason.”

 

“All right,” Harry agreed, a bit reluctantly. He couldn’t think of a better way to approach the situation, though. “Just be ready to cast a shield. It could be an ambush set to be sprung the moment the door is closed behind us.”

 

“I will be,” Draco assured him.

 

They arrived at the door. After taking a look around and a deep breath, Draco knocked firmly on the door. He saw an eye at the peephole before the door shimmered slightly, and he knew he was being observed through the now temporarily transparent door. Unfortunately the spell was one-sided, so he still couldn’t see who was on the other side.

 

The door opened slowly, revealing a tall woman with long, dark hair. The facial features didn’t match his mother’s, but the eyes did.

 

“Mother?” he asked quietly.

 

The smile was cautious but genuine. “Come in, Draco.”

 

She stepped back to allow him entrance. When Draco moved forward, Harry was right behind him.

 

The woman, who Harry assumed to be Narcissa under a glamour, sighed before she closed the door and warded it. “I asked you to come alone.”

 

“Draco doesn’t go about meeting unknown people in unfamiliar locations alone,” Harry said evenly. “Even if it is apparently his mother.”

 

The woman smiled a little, and then waved her wand. The glamour melted away, and the Narcissa Malfoy Harry recognised appeared, though her hair remained dark—apparently a more permanent part of her disguise.

 

She held out her arms to Draco. “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

Draco embraced his mother, and although Harry couldn’t see his face, he knew Draco was probably fighting not to show how emotional he must be about this reunion. Harry slowly put away his wand; he would be visibly unarmed, but not truly so.

 

Draco pulled back and smiled at Narcissa’s tears as she kissed both his cheeks. “I’ve missed you, too. So very much.”

 

He kissed her cheek before stepping out of her arms. Then he stepped back and placed his hand on the small of Harry’s back. “Mother, may I formally introduce you to Harry Potter. Harry, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said politely, stretching out his hand. He gave no indication of how his emotions were beginning to churn. Narcissa took it as she gave a little nod.

 

“The pleasure is all mine. The wizarding world owes you a great debt, Mr Potter.”

 

“Harry, please.”

 

He didn’t get a return offer of the use of her given name, so Harry knew he was still being weighed. He didn’t mind. He was being very cautious, too.

 

“Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

 

“Yes, please,” Harry said, and Draco nodded as well.

 

Narcissa busied herself pouring out. “It’s so good to see you, Draco. I’ve been so worried about you.”

 

“I’ve been worried about you,” Draco admitted. “Until just recently, I didn’t know if you were…well, if you were still alive. I hoped you’d gone into hiding, which, thank Merlin, you obviously did, but for months I didn’t know…”

 

“You thought the Dark Lord might have killed me when you betrayed him.” Narcissa nodded as she gave Draco a searching look. Draco knew she wanted to know why he’d betrayed Voldemort by freeing Harry—as far as she knew, that was when Draco had first betrayed the Dark Lord. “I knew you might think that, and it pained me, but I saw no other choice than to leave no trace when I left. I felt it was safer for both of us.”

 

“You did the right thing,” Draco assured her. “Exactly as I wished you to do. I was afraid you might have stayed because of Father…but I’m glad you were wise enough to know he wouldn’t be able to protect you from Voldemort—” his mother winced and he automatically deferred to her— “the Dark Lord should he set his sights on you. When I finally went to the Manor a few days ago, and Cedar told me you’d left…well, I can’t tell you how relieved I was.”

 

“It was a difficult decision, but as you said, my life was at risk, as was yours if I stayed. He could have used me against you.” She glanced at Harry and sipped at her tea as she studied him. “I’ve read the accounts of the war in the papers, including a transcript of your press conference that was printed. It was very enlightening. Among other things, I hadn’t known the Dark Lord’s heritage.”

 

“Few people did; he kept it well hidden that he was a half-blood.”

 

She paused a moment, regarding them both. “I must say I was quite surprised to learn of your…relationship.”

 

Draco smiled. “It was a bit surprising to us when it happened as well. It certainly wasn’t what either of us expected to happen.”

 

“How did it happen? You were enemies at Hogwarts, and Draco, you’re Marked…”

 

“It doesn’t matter to me that he’s Marked,” Harry said. “As to how it happened…well, first Draco saved my life. After I recovered, Professor Dumbledore had Draco move in with me at Grimmauld Place for safety. We got to know one another. Our relationship developed from there.”

 

“Grimmauld Place? Number twelve Grimmauld Place? Walburga and Orion Black’s house?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How on earth does Headmaster Dumbledore have control of the property? It’s Black property. It should belong to…” She trailed off.

 

“Sirius, the cousin you betrayed?” Harry finished coolly. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

 

Draco looked sharply at Harry. “What are you talking about?”

 

Harry eyed Narcissa as he thought again of how she had been involved with Kreacher’s betrayal of Sirius. He’d been putting it aside, ignoring it, as he hadn’t wanted to get into it with Draco when he didn’t even know if his mother, someone he obviously cared for greatly and his only remaining family, was alive or not. But now that he was faced with her, and she had inadvertently brought it up…well, it wasn’t something he could ignore any longer. 

 

“I hadn’t planned on getting into this today, but your mother helped my—Sirius’—old house-elf to betray Sirius for Voldemort. Before I went to the Department of Mysteries to try and save Sirius after Voldemort tricked me with the vision—” Harry felt the old feelings of self-loathing and guilt rise up inside him and forcibly shoved them back down again—“I tried to contact Sirius at Grimmauld Place. Kreacher lied to me, told me he wasn’t there. He led me to believe he was at the Department of Mysteries, just as your mother had told him to do.”

 

Draco simply stared at Harry. Then he looked at Narcissa. “Mother?”

 

Narcissa didn’t look away from Harry. “I was following Lucius’ instructions. The Dark Lord wanted to ensure that if you looked for Sirius, you wouldn’t be able to find him.”

 

“How could you do that to your own cousin?” Harry demanded.

 

“I did not know he would be in any danger—he wasn’t really being held at the Ministry, after all.”

 

Harry smiled humourlessly. “You didn’t care about Sirius. He was a blood-traitor, a stain on the family name. You knew my death would hurt Sirius, and you didn’t care. What was most important was getting me to the Department of Mysteries—so Voldemort could get the prophecy, and I could likely be captured or killed.”

 

Draco looked back and forth between his lover and his mother, unsure of what to do or say. The tension in the room was rising, and he had no idea how to diffuse it.

 

Narcissa finally broke eye contact with Harry. She inhaled deeply, composing herself, before she looked back at him. “You are quite accurate in your assessment of the situation. How do you know all this?”

 

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Harry said brusquely. “What matters is that Sirius—my godfather—is dead.”

 

“I cannot take back my actions, and there is no way to apologise for them—even if I wanted to.”

 

“Would you take them back, if you could?”

 

Narcissa considered this. “Do you truly wish for an honest answer?”

 

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

 

“I would not. I did what I did to help my husband remain in the Dark Lord’s good graces. One does not—did not—cross the Dark Lord, and he withdrew his favour more easily than he gave it. I would still do whatever necessary to protect my family.”

 

While Harry could understand the desire to protect family—he’d run into the trap Voldemort had set for him in an effort to protect what was left of his—he had a hard time just accepting what this woman had done. She’d been involved in Sirius’ death, however tangentially.

 

“It didn’t bother you to set up a fifteen-year-old boy—one the same age as your own son—to be captured or killed?”

 

Harry heard Draco suck in a breath; he figured he was reacting to both his words and the absolute bitter cold of his voice.

 

“Harry,” Draco interrupted. “Harry, please.”

 

Harry kept his frigid gaze on Narcissa for a moment before turning to look at Draco. Seeing the stricken look on his boyfriend’s face had Harry relenting a little.

 

“I’m ruining your happy reunion, aren’t I?” he asked. “I’m sorry. As I said, I had no intentions of bringing this up today.”

 

“I can’t just sit here listening to you attack my mother, Harry.”

 

Harry lifted his brows. He hadn’t really considered how this situation put Draco squarely in the middle of two people he loved. “I don’t view what I’ve said as an attack, but I understand it might seem like one to you. I won’t say anything else—” he glanced at Narcissa—“at least right now.”

 

“Draco, I’d like very much to speak with you alone.”

 

Draco looked away from Harry. “Mother, don’t ask me to send Harry away.”

 

Harry stood up. “It’s fine. The two of you have things to discuss. I’ll step outside.” He met Narcissa’s gaze. “You have my word, if it means anything to you, that your conversation with your son will be truly private. You may speak freely; I will make no attempt to listen in.”

 

With that, Harry walked to the door, brushing his hand along Draco’s shoulder in reassurance as he moved past his chair. Draco turned to watch him step out into the corridor but didn’t say anything. Despite Harry’s promise, Narcissa warded the door against eavesdropping.

 

“Mother, what…I don’t even know what to say.”

 

“I have something more important to talk with you about than past history,” Narcissa said briskly.

 

“You can’t brush something like this aside.”

 

“I’m not brushing it aside—merely putting it off for now. Draco, I have to ask you: is this relationship with Potter real?”

 

Draco sat back and looked calculatingly at his mother. “You think I’m using him. You think I started using him as a means to protect myself, and now that the war is over, that I’m staying with him because of his power and his influence. I’d be a fool to reveal my hand and throw him over now that’s he’s the most powerful, well-regarded wizard in the world. I’m using him to remove the tarnish from my name, to solidify my standing in the wizarding world as a member of the elite. I’m using him, because that’s what a proper Slytherin, and a proper Malfoy, would do.”

 

“And are you using him?”

 

Draco leaned forward and met his mother’s gaze frankly. “No.”

 

He leaned back again. “I love him, Mother. There’s nothing false or contrived about our relationship. There never was, even at the start.”

 

Narcissa sighed. “As I suspected. When your relationship was first made public after the war, I wondered as to your motives. Dating Harry Potter—well, you must understand why it seemed a rather far-fetched idea to me. And as I’d never suspected you were interested in men, I found your relationship with a man questionable as well. But when I saw you at the Ministry—”

 

“You saw me at the Ministry? When?”

 

“I was there at the awards ceremony, under a glamour, of course. I had to see you. And I saw you with Potter after the attack. You came onto the stage, and when he hugged you, I saw your face. Your relief was genuine. That you cared for him was obvious. Then you brought him here today, even though I asked you to come alone. So I believed the relationship was probably real, but I still had to ask.”

 

“Why didn’t you speak to me at the Ministry? Why didn’t you contact me before today?”

 

“Draco, you’re smart enough to know the answer to that.”

 

“You aren’t a Death Eater, and you were never involved with Death Eater activities. You won’t be arrested. And if they try, I will intervene.”

 

“You know I’ll be brought in for questioning, given who my husband was. The Dark Lord was present in our home. Malfoy money was used to support him. Lucius isn’t around to blame, and you’re a war hero. If they want a scapegoat, I’m the only one left.”

 

At the mention of his father’s name, Draco inwardly flinched. He somehow had to tell his mother that her son had killed her husband.

 

“I won’t let that happen. They may question you, yes, but they will find absolutely nothing to hold against you, as there is nothing.” He paused and arched a brow questioningly. “Unless there is something I don’t know about?”

 

“No, there’s nothing. You know I didn’t support him the way your father did. I may have agreed with some of his viewpoints, but I only supported him out of necessity.”

 

“Yes, I know.” Draco sighed. “What do you plan to do? You can’t stay in hiding forever.”

 

“I was hoping you could convince your Mr Potter to escort me to the Ministry, so that I may present myself for questioning voluntarily. I feel it would be best to be upfront. I would want you there as well, of course.”

 

Draco thought this over for a moment. “I agree. It’s a good idea,” Draco said nodding. “And you’d like to use Harry’s presence as a not-so-subtle endorsement of your innocence.”

 

“As you know, I am innocent. Being escorted by the man who saved the wizarding world—well, it’s always sound strategy to take advantage of powerful allies. I would think you would recognise this, Draco.” Her expression was mildly curious, but Draco thought he heard an undercurrent of disapproval in her tone.

 

“I’m not in the habit of using the man I love for personal gain,” Draco said quietly.

 

Narcissa looked genuinely surprised by Draco’s response. “So you won’t ask him to help me? Even in such a minor way?”

 

“I’ll ask him, but only because it’s for you. I’m not sure how this issue between the two of you might influence his decision to co-operate or not, though. And I…I won’t try to coerce him—even if that were possible—not even for you.”

 

“I see.” Narcissa studied him for a moment before surprising him by smiling.

 

“Why are you smiling?”

 

“You really do love him, don’t you? I hadn’t understood how deep your feelings really ran for him, but…you obviously truly love him.”

 

Draco chuckled. “Yes, I really do. Mother, he’s…he’s not the person I always thought he was when we were in school. Well, he’s just as noble and self-sacrificing, but it’s all genuine, whereas before I always assumed it was a bid for attention. He’s the sort of truly good person I never believed was real—much less thought I’d fall for.

 

“He cleverer than I ever thought he was—for whatever reason, he downplays his true intelligence. Perhaps it’s his modesty—he’s the most annoying modest person I’ve ever met. He’s kind, he’s loyal, and he’s incredibly brave. He has his faults, of course—he is a Gryffindor, after all.” He smiled a little. “He’s stubborn and insists on having Ron Weasley as a friend.” Then he became more serious. “I’m not the same person I was the last time I saw you. He’s changed me, for the better.”

 

Narcissa sat quietly for a moment, seeming to take in all of what Draco had told her. “I suspect the war changed you as well.”

 

Draco nodded. “It did.”

 

“How did you end up actively supporting their side, Draco? Why did you betray the Dark Lord and risk your life to rescue Potter?”

 

“That is a rather long story, and we’ve left Harry standing in the corridor long enough. Shall I invite him back in, or shall we go? I could come see you again later.”

 

“You might want to ask Mr Potter that question. He may not wish to be in the same room with me.”

 

“We’ll definitely be talking more about that later,” Draco said firmly, looking at his mother pointedly. He walked to the door and opened it. Glancing back at his mother, he stepped out into the corridor.

 

“I’m sorry you’ve been kept waiting out here alone for so long,” he apologised.

 

Harry waved a hand. He’d spent the interminable wait trying to calm down and figure out a way to smooth all of this over, so it didn’t become a problem between him and Draco. He hadn’t been very successful; he was actually feeling more agitated than when he’d left the room. “It’s all right. Are we leaving now?”

 

“I think that would be best. I’ll come back and see Mother again later.”

 

“Without me?”

 

Draco lifted a brow at the brittle tone of Harry’s voice. “That’s up to you. I know we need to talk, and we will when we get home. Let me just say goodbye to Mother.”

 

Draco stepped back inside, and Harry followed him, though he remained standing with the closed door at his back. He watched Draco hug and kiss his mother. When Narcissa’s gaze fell on him, he simply inclined his head in a mocking little nod. Then he nodded to Draco and Disapparated.

 

Harry was already striding across the backyard when Draco Apparated onto the edge of the property. “Harry, wait!”

 

“I need a drink,” Harry tossed back over his shoulder. He yanked open the back door and took the stairs down to the kitchen two at a time. He was grateful to find it empty.

 

Draco burst in behind him as Harry was pulling glasses out of the cabinet. He figured Draco would want one as well.

 

“What the hell’s going on? What was that with my mother?”

 

“You heard.” Harry got out the bottle of Firewhisky and poured two short glasses. He slid one down the table to Draco before knocking his back. He coughed a little at the fiery burn, but poured himself another. He leaned back on the kitchen counter, swirling the amber liquid idly as he finally looked at Draco with stormy green eyes.

 

Draco looked both bewildered and angry. He picked up his glass and took a swallow. “You said my mother told a house-elf to betray his master and trick you into believing Sirius Black was at the Department of Mysteries.”

 

“I’m not the only one who said it,” Harry reminded him. “Your mother admitted it. And betraying Sirius isn’t the only thing she did.” He took a sip of Firewhisky and watched Draco over the rim of the glass. “She set me up.”

 

Ignoring that and the cold feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach for the moment, Draco glared at Harry. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about all this before? Why did you blindside me with this?”

 

Harry sighed. “I told you, I didn’t intend to bring it up today. If we found your mother today, I was going to tell you.”

 

“Why wait?”

 

“Draco, you thought she might be dead. I didn’t see the point in telling you at all if she was dead. I’m sorry for the way you found out, I really am. And perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut when she mentioned Grimmauld Place as having been Sirius’ and waited to confront her until after I’d told you. But I just couldn’t. I was too angry.”

 

“You should have waited. You put me in a horrible position.”

 

“I realise that, and I’m sorry for it. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’d have been put in the same position at some point anyway. I wasn’t ever going to let it drop completely—I was just planning to let you reunite with her first.”

 

“How considerate of you,” Draco said sarcastically.

 

Harry tossed back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “Fuck you, Draco.”

 

“Fuck you, Harry. I haven’t seen my mother in months, didn’t know if she was even alive, and five minutes after I’m finally with her again, you start attacking her right in front of me.”

 

“Would you have preferred I attacked her in private?” Harry shot back.

 

“You shouldn’t have been attacking her at all!” Draco shouted.

 

Harry fought to keep calm as he poured himself another drink. He didn’t need to be fighting with Draco about this. It would cause a bad situation to become even worse. But he was pissed off at Narcissa Malfoy, he’d had all the emotions associated with Sirius’ death—anger, guilt, grief—stirred up, and Draco wasn’t helping matters. He didn’t shout back, but his voice dropped dangerously low. “Are you saying you think I should just let this drop? Let it go? Forget what your mother did to Sirius, to me, and just be pals? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Frustrated, Draco ran a hair through his hair, something he only did when he was extremely upset. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do about this. She told you she did it to protect our family; my mother would do anything to protect her family. I’d think you’d understand that.”

 

“I do understand it, and I don’t know what I would have done in her position, but I think I would have tried to find some other way. I don’t think I could have agreed to send a fifteen-year-old boy to his death.”

 

The silence that fell in the room had teeth, and those teeth were set to snap and bite. They’d hit the crux of the matter. Harry was angry Narcissa had betrayed her cousin, because it had set in motion a chain of events that led to his death. But he knew the outcome could have been different, and what Narcissa had done hadn’t been the most direct or even the biggest contributing factor to Sirius’ death—he had been. He’d allowed Voldemort to trick him, and if he’d listened to Hermione, Sirius might still be alive.

 

But it wasn’t just Sirius who Narcissa had betrayed. She’d betrayed a _child_. She’d known the purpose behind Kreacher’s lie to Harry—to convince Harry that Sirius was in danger in the hope that Harry would do exactly as he had and go haring off to the Ministry to help him. Oh, there was the slight chance Voldemort or Lucius or whoever had given her the instructions hadn’t directly said that capturing or killing Harry Potter had been part of the goal, but even so, she had to have known. If he made it to the Hall of Prophecy, if he got the prophecy and the Death Eaters took it from him, had she honestly thought the Death Eaters—including her husband and her mad sister—would just let him go?

 

Draco must have been reading his thoughts. “Perhaps she didn’t know all of the plan.”

 

“Don’t be naïve. She knew.”

 

“Then she didn’t take it into consideration. She was too focussed on the family and must have decided that telling a house-elf to lie to you on the chance you might ask him where Black had gone wasn’t as important as protecting the family. As she said, just telling the house-elf to lie didn’t actually put your godfather in danger.”

 

“No, just his godson.” Harry’s gaze was bitter as he stared at Draco. Then he tilted his head as he took a deep swallow of his drink. “How did she explain it to you after I left?”

 

“She didn’t. She said we’d talk about it later.”

 

Harry smiled tightly. “Not important enough to discuss right then?”

 

Draco gave Harry a dirty look. “She had other things to talk about that took priority. We will discuss it the next time I see her, I assure you.”

 

“What did you talk about then?” Harry held up a hand. “Sorry. Not my business. Are we done here?”

 

“No, we’re not done,” Draco snapped.

 

“Fine.” Harry topped off his glass of Firewhisky. “But we’re taking it upstairs. I want to get out of these clothes. And these fucking shoes.” He Disapparated without another word.

 

“Quite a bad habit you’ve developed there, Harry, Disapparating to escape a situation you don’t like,” Draco muttered.

 

He decided to take advantage of Harry’s absence, though, to take a moment for himself. And perhaps give Harry some time to calm down. He picked up his mostly untouched glass of whisky and sipped. One glass was fine. Getting drunk, on the other hand, would only exacerbate things, but there was no way he’d be saying that to Harry. He didn’t need another reason for Harry to jump down his throat.

 

Draco sighed. This was one hell of a royal, fucking mess. And he was stuck right in the middle of it. As he saw it, it was a no-win situation for him. He’d end up with someone upset with him, no matter what he did.

 

The problem was he understood both sides of the situation. He wished one of them were clearly in the wrong; it would be easier on him that way. Then he could choose a side. At least then he’d only have one of the people he loved most in the world upset with him as opposed to both of them. And he could work towards bringing one person around instead of two.

 

Harry had good reason to be upset about the way his godfather had been betrayed, and the way his own life had been put on the line. He would be pissed off in that situation, too. In fact, he _was_ rather dismayed to think his mother had risked Harry’s life by her actions. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have been before he fell in love with Harry.

 

And that fact gave him even more insight into why his mother had followed the instructions she said his father gave her. For his mother, family was paramount. He could completely understand the reasons why she’d put her family above a troublesome half-blood boy she didn’t even like.

 

He’d just have to get Harry to see things from his mother’s point-of-view. And maybe, eventually, get his mother to see things from Harry’s—though he suspected she already did and just didn’t care very much. Harry was generally reasonable, and he’d forgiven or at least accepted the things Draco had done to him in the past. Perhaps he could accept this as well.

 

Deciding he’d given Harry enough time, he deliberately took the stairs instead of Apparating, which is what he suspected Harry assumed he would do. He had a very big and very important job ahead of him, and if he could put Harry off-balance in even the slightest way, he’d do it.

 

He found Harry lying on his back on the bed, arms folded behind his head. He eyed Draco coolly.

 

“Had enough time to work out your strategy for dealing with me?” he asked. The comment wasn’t exactly friendly, but Draco thought Harry sounded a little less angry.

 

“I thought we could both use a little time to calm down,” Draco replied.

 

Harry just watched Draco for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he finally admitted.

 

Well, that was a positive sign, Draco decided. Perhaps Harry was in a state of mind where he’d actually listen.

 

“I have a very big favour to ask you, Harry.”

 

“If you’re going to ask me to just forgive and forget, you’re delusional.”

 

Draco shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to listen—just listen—to what I have to say.”

 

Harry propped himself up on his elbows with a studied sort of casualness. “You haven’t spoken to your mother. How are you going to argue her case if you don’t know her side of it yet?”

 

“Why do you think that’s what I’m going to do?”

 

Harry just gave him a look.

 

“Fine, you’re right, partially. I wouldn’t put it as arguing her case, but even though I haven’t spoken to her yet, I think I know her well enough to be able to explain to you why she acted as she did.”

 

“For family. Yes, I know, you’ve both already said that.”

 

“I’m asking you to listen, Harry,” Draco said again in what he considered to be an admirably neutral tone. “Are you willing to do that? Listen, with an open mind?”

 

“You’re asking a lot,” Harry said, but Draco could tell by how he said it that he’d give in and agree.

 

“I know I am. But I’m still asking.”

 

“Fine. I’ll listen, and I’ll try to keep an open mind, but don’t expect I’m going to just meekly fall in line when you’re finished.”

 

Draco huffed out a laugh. “I’d never expect that, trust me.”

 

“Fine,” Harry said again. He slid off the bed. “Let’s sit.”

 

“All right.” They moved to the sitting area. Draco noticed Harry brought his glass of Firewhisky, and that it was mostly empty. He didn’t know how well Harry held his liquor; he hoped three glasses of alcohol wasn’t enough to impair his rational thinking, or he’d be wasting his breath. Well, he might be wasting it anyway. He shoved that defeatist attitude aside and looked at Harry.

 

“I know this might be difficult, but I’d like you to try and think of how things happened from my point-of-view.”

 

“Yours? Not your mother’s?”

 

“When all of this happened, it was our fifth-year. My attitudes and opinions were exactly that of my mother’s. From your perspective, mine were probably worse: I supported the Dark Lord blindly because my father did, and I hated your guts, whereas my mother was much less of a supporter, and although she didn’t like you, it was in more of an abstract way. It wasn’t personal.

 

“You know my family’s opinions regarding blood status. You understand the desire to keep your family safe—we both do. So if you think of things from my mother’s perspective, you’re basically thinking of it from my perspective as well.”

 

It was manipulative to try and play on Harry’s emotions by getting him focussed on himself, someone he cared for, instead of his mother, for whom he only had negative feelings. It was deliberate, and Draco felt no compunction at all for doing whatever he could to twist the situation to his advantage; he was a Slytherin, after all.

 

Harry said nothing, just waited for him to go on, so he did.

 

“In regard to your godfather, he was a blood-traitor and escaped convict. He’d rejected his own family and was shunned, because betraying your family—which is what he did, from the family’s point-of-view—simply wasn’t tolerated. The Blacks held very specific viewpoints, and Sirius Black flaunted his disregard for them. As far as my family—my mother—was concerned, he was persona non grata; doing something that might hurt his feelings, like potentially putting his half-blood godson at risk, would have meant nothing. Betraying him in such a way didn’t even put his life in danger. Compared to gaining some favour for the family—well, there wasn’t even a decision to be made.”

 

Draco waited to see if Harry would have any reaction to this, but he simply sat there, his expression hard but otherwise unreadable. 

 

“As for you…my father actively supported the Dark Lord. He was a presence in our home. No one in my family held any love for Harry Potter, least of all me. Yes, you were still a kid, but you were also Dumbledore’s pet, and the reason for the Dark Lord’s fall. You were an undesirable half-blood actively agitating the Dark Lord, upon whose goodwill my father had made us all dependent.

 

“I don’t believe my mother could have pointed her wand at you and killed you. But to simply tell a house-elf to lie on the off chance that it might convince you to go somewhere and put yourself in a dangerous situation? She hadn’t known for a fact you would even talk to the house-elf. She hadn’t known you’d think to use thestrals to get all the way from Hogwarts to London. She hadn’t known a fifteen-year-old boy would be stupid enough—or brave enough, depending on your point-of-view—to go traipsing off on his own to the Ministry of Magic to try and rescue a man held captive by a powerful Dark Lord.

 

“She put her family first, as I would have. Telling that house-elf to lie was a sure way to keep her family in the Dark Lord’s good graces; providing that guaranteed protection for her family far outweighed the chance someone she didn’t even like might possibly be hurt.”

 

Draco paused to take a deep breath. Here was the risky part of his plan.

 

“I know this may hurt you, and it may anger you, but I don’t believe my actions would have been any different than that of my mother’s at that time. We’ve talked about circumstances before, and how they affect actions. The circumstances when all of this happened are very different than what they are now.”

 

He fell silent and prayed he’d been convincing enough.

 

Harry just watched him for a few moments. Draco still couldn’t decipher his expression, because he really didn’t have one. As the silence stretched out, he wished Harry would say something. Anything.

 

Harry had listened. He’d done as Draco had asked and shoved his emotions aside and listened. Now he didn’t know what to think. There was too much to think about, and too many emotions tied in to those thoughts. He needed to process everything.

 

He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Draco, I need some time. Some time to think about all this.”

 

“All right. I’ll leave you alone.”

 

“No, you don’t need to go. I need some air. I’m going up to the roof.” He paused as a better idea occurred to him. “No, I’m going to Hogwarts.”

 

Draco wanted to protest but simply nodded and watched Harry grab his broom and go.

 


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-seven

 

 

Harry didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel. He’d Apparated to Hogwarts, gotten permission from Professor McGonagall to fly, and was now soaring above the trees at breakneck speed. He dove down over the Quidditch pitch, gaining speed as he lost altitude. He relished the rush and the risk. He pulled up at the last possible second and took his broom high into the sky again. He rolled and turned and flipped, performing every reckless stunt he knew, making some up as he went along. He lost track of time, but he eventually felt calm enough to bring his broom to a smooth stop and hover high above Hogwarts.

 

Damn Draco. Damn his logic and his reasoning and his calm rationales. The bastard had made him see his side—his mother’s side. Harry damned himself for the fact he could understand, even the tiniest bit, why Narcissa Malfoy had done what she’d done. It was a betrayal of Sirius to even consider things from her perspective, wasn’t it? What she’d done had contributed to Sirius’ death and could have led to his own. That was unforgivable, wasn’t it? There were no valid reasons to excuse what she’d done, were there?

 

But the way Draco had explained it…it made him clearly see the other side of the coin. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that he understood the need to protect family. He didn’t like that he understood going against Voldemort and one’s husband would be very difficult to do. He didn’t like the points Draco had made about Sirius’ relationship with his family and the fact the Blacks hated Sirius as much as he hated them. He didn’t like understanding that while Narcissa had betrayed her cousin, she hadn’t been the main reason he’d died.

 

No. He had been the catalyst. He’d allowed himself to be tricked, he’d refused to listen to reason, and he’d put both himself and his friends in danger. And in doing so, he’d created a situation from which he’d needed to be rescued, and there was no way on earth Sirius Black wouldn’t have come to the aid of James Potter’s son.

 

Over time, Harry had forced himself to acknowledge that Dumbledore was right in that Sirius had played a role in his own death. He’d taken the risk of leaving the safety of Grimmauld Place. He’d been arrogant whilst duelling Bellatrix. It didn’t mean he deserved to die, but it did mean that all of the blame didn’t fall on Harry’s shoulders. Nor did all of it fall on Narcissa’s.

 

Harry sighed and did a lazy loop-de-loop. He’d never stop feeling guilty about Sirius’ death. He didn’t know if he could forgive Narcissa Malfoy’s role in it, even if he could see her point-of-view. And he didn’t know if he could forgive the callous way she’d put a fifteen-year-old boy’s life in danger—especially since he’d been that fifteen-year-old boy. What kind of person did that?

The kind who put her family above all else. The kind who considered the benefit to her family greater than the chance she might be contributing to putting someone else in danger. She’d helped put out some bait to lure him into the trap, but he was the one who’d taken that bait.

 

He knew his own judgement was biased, as he was the person involved in this morally dubious drama. Would he have an easier time accepting the rationale Draco had provided if it applied to someone other than himself? A stranger? How fair was it to call her out for doing something reprehensible when he himself had done plenty of things during the war others would find appalling and certainly morally questionable?

 

And Draco. Draco had said he would have made the same choice as his mother at the time. Harry hadn’t liked Draco then and still didn’t particularly like the way Draco had behaved when he’d been younger. But if he could accept who Draco had been back then and still love him now…was it possible to accept who Narcissa was and tolerate her?

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It would be so much easier if he could just be pissed off. If he didn’t have to be mature and rational like the adult he was supposed to be. It had been almost two years since the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. Was it time to let go of some of the anger, some of the grief? He’d never had any motivation to do so before, but now he did: Draco.

 

Sighing again, he made one final, lazy circle before descending to the ground. It was time to go home and talk to Draco.

 

 

*******************************************************************

 

 

Draco heard the back door open and shut downstairs and knew Harry was home. He’d been listening for him from their room. He didn’t hear his footsteps on the stairs, though, and figured Harry had gone down to the kitchen. It was past time for tea. He was probably hungry.

 

Harry only kept him waiting for about twenty minutes. During those twenty minutes, Draco replayed every possible outcome to the situation he’d come up with since Harry had left. He knew which one he liked least: animosity between Harry and his mother driving a wedge between Harry and himself to the point it damaged their relationship. Of all the scenarios he’d come up with, he thought the best he could hope for was some sort of truce.

 

“Hi.”

 

Draco turned; he’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t heard Harry come into the room.

 

“Hello.”

 

“I stopped for something to eat before coming up—I was starving.”

 

“I figured you had.”

 

They stood there watching each other for a very long moment. Finally, Harry stepped forward. “Come here, please.”

 

Draco walked towards him, and Harry met him halfway. Harry ran his hand over Draco’s cheek, and his eyes over his face. Then he leaned in and took Draco’s lips in a slow, gentle kiss. Draco slid his hand into Harry’s hair and felt some of the tension ease.

 

Harry pulled back just enough to meet Draco’s eyes. “I love you. That hasn’t changed, nor will it ever change. I hope you know that.”

 

Draco gave him a little half-smile. “How did you know?”

 

“Know you’d be worried our relationship wouldn’t survive this? Because I know you, Draco. And, to be honest, if our positions were reversed, I don’t know that I wouldn’t be having doubts about how things would end up as well. I wanted you to know you have nothing to worry about. No matter what happens with your mother, it will never change how I feel about you.”

 

“No matter what happens with my mother, it won’t change the fact that I love you, either,” Draco promised.

 

Harry smiled. “Good. At least we’re agreed there.”

 

“Are we to be agreed at all in regard to the other?”

 

Harry blew out a breath. “One hundred per cent agreed? I doubt that will ever happen.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shall we sit?”

 

“Of course.” They resumed their same places from the earlier conversation.

 

“You mother is very important to you,” Harry began, “and I respect that. I don’t want you in the position of feeling stuck between us or having to keep two parts of your life completely separate because we can’t stand to be in the same room together. I can, and I will, get along with your mother to the best of my ability, and I will make a genuine effort at it. I’ll make every effort to keep things from being awkward between us.”

 

Draco didn’t bother trying to hide his relief. “Thank you, Harry. I know you feel you have good reason to hate her, and perhaps you do, but knowing you’re willing to keep things civil…it means a lot to me.”

 

“I know she doesn’t like me, so she’ll have to do her part for this to work, but I’m hoping for your sake she will.”

 

“She doesn’t know you well enough to know if she likes you or not.”

 

“I’m a half-blood who holds beliefs in direct opposition to her own. That’s a bloody big strike against me.”

 

“You’re also the man who defeated the Dark Lord and saved the wizarding world, and a man who holds a high position within society, something she greatly respects. And what I think will be most important to her is the fact you’re the man her son loves. Those are three very important marks in your favour.”

 

Harry sat back and considered what Draco had said. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if you’re right.”

 

“Dare I ask what kind of conclusions you came to as a result of all your thinking?”

 

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and thought about how to answer Draco. “I guess you can say I came to the very reluctant conclusion that I could see the situation from your mother’s point-of-view as you described it. Because of the results of her actions, I won’t ever be able to say I agree with the decision she made. But I can understand the reasons behind that decision.

 

“Because of what happened to Sirius and myself, I think I’ll always feel what she did was wrong, but I’m admittedly looking at the situation through the lens of my own emotions. But I can’t fully push those emotions aside, Draco; I just can’t. At least not now. Perhaps one day in the future…I don’t know.”

 

“No one’s asking you to push those emotions aside. You lost your godfather, and could have lost your life, and my mother played a part in that. She may have had legitimate reasons and rationales for her actions, but it was you who suffered the consequences of those actions. She didn’t act alone, and I think you’d agree she was far from the most important factor in what happened that night, but she was involved. Not being able to forgive that…well, it’s completely understandable.”

 

“No, she wasn’t the most important factor; that was me. What happened that night was ultimately mostly my fault.”

 

“I’d say the blame rests squarely on Voldemort,” Draco said sharply. He didn’t like the idea that Harry blamed himself for what had happened at the Ministry.

 

“It does, yes,” Harry agreed. “But I played a pretty big role in the events of that night, made some very poor decisions. I’ll regret those decisions for the rest of my life.”

 

“Do you mean your decision to go and try to rescue your godfather?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry, you told me you’d had a vision of him being tortured. Are you telling me you wouldn’t regret it now if you had done nothing to help him?”

 

“He wasn’t really being held captive; he was safe.”

 

“But you didn’t know that at the time. You believed his life was in danger. The decision you made to try and help him was made in good faith.”

 

“Good faith based on my bad judgement in trusting the vision.”

 

“Did you have any reason to doubt the vision wasn’t real?” Draco asked.

 

“No, but—”

 

“Hadn’t you had an accurate vision of Nagini attacking Arthur Weasley?”

 

“Well, yes. That’s what convinced me the vision about Sirius was legitimate.”

 

“Exactly,” Draco said. “You had solid evidence that your visions could be real. Why wouldn’t you have thought what you were seeing about your godfather was real?”

 

“I should have known Voldemort was capable of tricking me that way. I shouldn’t have fallen for it. I should have been able to tell the difference between a real vision and a false one,” Harry said, bitter recrimination lacing his words.

 

“Oh, bullshit.” Draco snapped, causing Harry to lift his brows. “How could you have possibly known? You’d seen through Voldemort’s eyes; you’d seen through his snake’s eyes. You were fifteen years old and apparently had no support from any damn adult in that school. You said Dumbledore was ignoring you all year. Snape was tormenting you. Umbridge certainly wasn’t going to help you—her goal was to discredit you. Sweet Merlin, she set a Dementor on you. The adult running the school tried to have your soul sucked out, and when that didn’t work, tried to have your wand snapped. Who were you supposed to go to for advice when you had what could have been an actual vision of your godfather being tortured? What else were you supposed to do, other than do whatever you could to save him?”

 

Harry licked his lips. He knew all of what Draco was saying was true, and he’d thought of some of those things before, individually, but he’d never put them all together in a stack large enough to make him realise that while the decision he’d made to go rescue Sirius might have been foolish in retrospect, he hadn’t had the benefit of hindsight at the time. He _had_ tried to get help from adults. Dumbledore and McGonagall had both been gone. The school headmistress was openly his enemy. Yes, he’d forgotten about Snape as a resource, but could he really be blamed for that? At that point in his life, Snape had been almost as big an enemy as Voldemort. And he’d tried to verify Sirius was actually in danger before running off to save him, and what Kreacher had told him had validated his vision.

 

“When you put it that way, I…maybe I…”

 

“Maybe you’re not to blame for falling for a powerful Dark wizard’s rather devious trap? Maybe it’s not your fault bad things happened when you tried to do the right thing—the brave thing—by saving your godfather’s life?” Draco asked with one brow lifted.

 

Harry huffed out a small laugh. “You’re very good at that.”

 

“What? Making you see reason? Well, someone has to be. Otherwise you’d take the blame for every bad thing that ever happens in your life. Bad things happen, Harry; you and I know that better than most. Just because you get caught up in them, just because what you do may play a part in what happens, doesn’t mean you’re always at fault.” Draco leaned forward and gentled his tone. “You don’t like seeing yourself as a victim; few people do. But you were a victim that night, Harry, just as much as your godfather was.”

 

Harry couldn’t do anything but stare at Draco. He managed to swallow the lump that formed in his throat, but it took a lot of effort.

 

“I…I’ve never thought of it that way,” he finally managed to say.

 

“Of course not. You’re Harry Potter. You’re so used to carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s become habit to pick up every stray bit of weight you come across and take it on as your own—a habit you desperately need to break, by the way,” he added with a warning look. How he’d fallen in love with a man with such martyr-ish instincts was beyond him.

 

“I guess you’re right. I know I have the tendency to blame myself for things. It’s nothing I haven’t been told before. But I don’t know how to be any other way.”

 

“I’ll teach you,” Draco said dryly and made Harry laugh.

 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Harry said. He got up and pulled Draco from his chair. Then he just wrapped his arms around him and held him. Draco sank into the embrace gladly. He knew they both needed to feel each other’s solid, reassuring presence just then.

 

“I know we have more to talk about,” Harry said softly into Draco’s hair. “But I just need a little of you, a little of this…”

 

Harry’s kiss was unhurried and thorough. Draco felt the concentration he’d felt before when Harry had kissed him; all of Harry’s attention was focussed on one thing, and that was the pleasure of kissing him.

 

After the stress of the day, it was a relief to let everything drop away and just _be_. Just lose himself in the sheer joy of kissing the man he loved. Harry absorbed the shivers that rippled through his blood as he tongue stroked Draco’s. When just the tips of their tongues met in a playful little dance, Harry felt the first coil of heat slowly unwind in his belly. Draco traced the inside of his lip; he hummed in an echo of the purr of pleasure within him.

 

Minutes passed, and still, all they did was kiss. But it was more than just kissing—it was reconnecting. When they finally pulled apart, Harry felt like the ground was solid under his feet again.

 

“That was nice,” Draco murmured, brushing his hand through Harry’s messy fringe.

 

“Very,” Harry agreed. He traced a finger along Draco’s jaw and just looked at him—the fair skin, the grey eyes with their long, pale lashes, the finely arched brows that were a shade darker than the white blonde of his hair.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to himself.

 

“Beautiful?”

 

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, smiling a little. “You’re handsome, of course you are, but you’re also beautiful.”

 

Draco thought about it for a moment and decided he didn’t mind being beautiful.

 

“What you are is striking,” he returned. “It’s your eyes, yes, that bright, bold green, but it’s more than just the colour of your eyes. It’s the expressions they show. They’re so changeable, with all of your moods. It’s the way you see people with them. The way you see me with them.”

 

“All of what I see about you is beautiful to me,” Harry said softly, intensely, “even your flaws. Your flaws are part of what make you beautiful.” 

 

Draco smiled a little wryly. “I have so many flaws, I must be very beautiful indeed.”

 

Harry’s smile mirrored Draco’s. “You don’t have any more than I do. And I like that about us. We’re evenly matched in so many ways.”

 

He stepped back a little and his smiled morphed into one of mischievousness. “Well, evenly matched except in Quidditch. I’ll always be superior to you in Quidditch.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and flipped him off. “Fuck off, Harry.”

 

Harry grinned. “Any fucking I do will be with you.” Then he sighed and sobered. “But that will have to wait. We got off track in our discussion, and I’d like to have everything fully sorted before we go to bed tonight.”

 

“Me too.” Draco opted to sit on the couch next to Harry instead of across from him. He stretched out his long legs. “So you and my mother will basically be like me and Weasley, at least to start: civil.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Yes, I guess so. But Draco, I meant it when I said I will try to do more than just be civil. I told you before the war ended, when I didn’t know if I’d survive, that I would love you forever. I meant that. I still do. Your mother will always be a part of your life, and I will do what I can to keep my relationship with her smooth because I love you.” He looked at Draco seriously. “You believe she’ll be willing to do the same?”

 

Draco’s heart had lodged in his throat hearing Harry say again that he would always love him. He had to clear it to reply. “I do. She loves me, and because I love you—as I always will—she will do what she can to get along with you.”

 

“Good,” Harry said, nodding firmly. “So what’s the next step?”

 

Draco sighed. “I need to talk with Mother some more. There’s a lot she’s unaware of. There are things I feel it would be best I discussed with her privately. I hope you can understand that.”

 

“Of course I can,” Harry assured him. “I was pissed off when I left her room today, but I meant what I said about conversations between the two of you being private. Don’t feel as though I have to be included in every single conversation you have with her—it’s probably better, at least for now, that I’m not.”

 

“It’s not so much the content that I want to keep private—it’s just I’ll be telling her things about the war. She’ll be more comfortable showing her honest reactions if it’s just the two of us, as she was today. If you’re curious, I’ll tell you what we talked about today.”

 

Harry shrugged. “I have a pretty good idea.”

 

“If you suspected we were talking about you, you’re right of course,” Draco said, laughing a little. “She wasn’t trying to persuade me away from you or anything though.”

 

“Well, that’s a little surprising, but I suppose there’s still time for that,” Harry joked.

 

“Ha, ha. No, I told her about you, told her who you were so she’d have a better idea of who I’m in love with. It’s not the kind of conversation I’m using to having, but she wanted to know how serious I am about you. If I genuinely loved you, or if I was…taking advantage of you.”

 

“I’m assuming you don’t mean taking advantage of me for sex. I just can’t see your mother having that kind of discussion.”

 

“No, thank Merlin. She meant politically and socially taking advantage of who you are and the power you have. Hooking myself up with Harry Potter for my own gain.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, sitting back. “Remus said something like that to me once.”

 

“Remus believed I was using you?” Draco asked, surprisingly hurt by the thought.

 

“Oh, no, no, not that,” Harry hastily reassured him. “Not at all. He was warning me that others might believe that was what you were doing when they found out we were together. He didn’t feel that way.” 

 

“Oh, well, that’s good to know.” And it relieved Draco greatly. “Yes, I knew there were many people—probably most—who would believe I was sucking up to you when our relationship was revealed. I’m not surprised Mother was wondering if that was what I was doing—it would be a very Slytherin thing to do.” 

 

Harry frowned. “I suppose it would, wouldn’t it?” He glanced down at his hands. “You never…”

 

“No.” Draco said firmly, taking Harry’s chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. “I did not get into this relationship with you because you are one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world. I got into it first because I was hot for you.” Harry grinned. “And then I fell in love with you. You, not your power.”

 

Draco sat back and a smile played on his lips. “Of course, I’m not complaining you’re one of the most powerful men in our world. It’s quite a lovely side benefit.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep the magical power, but whatever other kind of power you seem to think I have, you can have it. You’d know better what to do with it than me, anyway.”

 

“I’ll be happy to give you advice,” Draco said with a wicked little smile.

 

“I’ll bet,” Harry muttered, but grinned when Draco slapped him on the thigh with the back of his hand.

 

“Will you go talk to your mother again tomorrow?” Harry asked, changing the subject.

 

“Yes.” Draco let out a deep sigh. “She asked me how I ended up on your side—she doesn’t even know I was ever a spy, so I have to tell her all of that. And I have to…I have to tell her about my father. About Lucius.”

 

“Oh, shite,” Harry breathed. “I hadn’t even thought of that. How do you think she’ll take it?”

 

Draco shook his head. “That’s just it. I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell her, either. What are the words to tell your mother you killed your father?”

 

“You got me,” Harry said, looking grim. “Maybe it would just be best to say it straight out.”

 

“The Gryffindor way?” Draco asked, smiling a little.

 

Harry shrugged. “Just an idea.”

 

“I know. Thanks. I guess I’ll wing it.”

 

“I’d go with you, but you said privacy would be best…?”

 

“I appreciate the offer, but yes, this is a conversation that needs to be just between Mother and I.” Draco stretched a little. “So, the fight, or whatever you want to call it, we were having today…is it finished?”

 

Harry smiled slowly. “Yes, I believe everything has been resolved satisfactorily.”

 

Draco snorted. “Listen to you.” He slid over and leaned in until he could brush his lips against Harry’s. “You owe me make-up sex.”

 

“Maybe you owe me,” Harry said, lipping at Draco’s mouth gently. 

 

“We’ll just call it even,” Draco murmured and finally took Harry’s mouth in a proper kiss. He kept it slow and easy; he was in the mood for slow.

 

It seemed Harry was too, as he took Draco’s face in both hands and simply sank into the kiss. When Draco’s lips began a trail down his neck, Harry sighed, “I love you.”

 

“Mmmm,” Draco hummed against his skin. “I love you.”

 

First Harry’s, then Draco’s shirts came off. They shed the rest of their clothes as they moved to the bed.

 

“I need you,” Harry whispered as Draco explored his body with gentle kisses. “I felt so separate from you. I need you to make me yours again.”

 

“You’ll always be mine.” Draco stroked Harry’s erection. “I’ll always be yours.”

 

When Draco finally entered Harry, they both sighed. Draco thrust shallowly as he stretched himself over Harry to mate their mouths in a sumptuous kiss. “Mine.” The words ghosted over Harry lips.

 

“Mine.” Harry breathed the words as Draco pulled back to position himself so he could push himself deeper into Harry. They rocked together, in perfect harmony, until they glided up and into bliss together.

 

 

**************************************************************

 

 

“Hello, Mother.” Draco kissed his mother’s cheek as he entered her room at the hotel. “You’re looking lovely.”

 

Narcissa smiled. “You mean I’m back to looking like myself,” she said wryly, fluffing her hair, which was back to its natural pale blonde.

 

“Yes, as I said…lovely.”

 

“Always such a charmer,” she remarked, motioning him towards the small table set with a tea service and a selection of scones. “Is your charm how you won Harry Potter?”

 

“Amongst other things,” Draco replied, smiling smugly.

 

“I’d like to know how the two of you got together,” Narcissa said. “To be truthful, I’m dying of curiosity!”

 

Draco laughed. His mother was considerably more relaxed today; she obviously felt more at ease.

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be shocked by some of it. Some of it still shocks me.” He spread clotted cream on a scone. “But it all started when I became a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.”

 

Narcissa blinked and her hand froze over the sugar bowl. “You what?”

 

Draco smiled a little before launching into the story of how he’d served as a spy, his Unbreakable Vow, how’d he invented the Apparition Hoop and rescued Harry, moving to Grimmauld Place, and training with the others. He left out quite a few details regarding the beginning of his and Harry’s relationship, namely that it had started as a sexual arrangement born out of mutual lust for one another, but otherwise told his mother the entire story. His mother asked many questions along the way, and generally spent a lot of time looking amazed or stunned.

 

“So you fell in love with a man you hated when you saved his life out of a sense of duty.” Narcissa chuckled. “It’s not your typical storybook romance, but it does have some fairy tale elements.”

 

Draco smiled softly. “I hope the living happily ever after part of the fairy tale applies.”

 

Narcissa looked a little taken aback. “Draco.”

 

“I love him, Mother. Completely. I plan to be with him forever.” He paused. “I’ve asked him to move into the Manor.”

 

Narcissa raised her brows. “And he accepted?”

 

“Yes. Why wouldn’t he?”

 

“Because it’s the ancestral home of people who supported the Dark Lord and believe in blood purity, and he stands against all of that, perhaps? It’s a place the Dark Lord used for meetings. Does he know that?”

 

“Yes, I told him. And not all of the Malfoys supported the Dark Lord. Father did. You did, mildly. I did not. And not all Malfoys hold the same views regarding blood purity.”

 

Narcissa sat back. “I wondered how that issue had been resolved between the two of you. How did he convince you to change your beliefs?”

 

“He didn’t—at least not in the way you are thinking.”

 

Narcissa lifted a brow, exactly as Draco often did.

 

Draco braced himself and began to explain how’d he’d done a lot of thinking and how he had changed his beliefs slowly over time. He used Harry as the prime example of how a half-blood can be very powerful, while some pure-bloods were not.

 

“Even if he is powerful, he’s still a half-blood, Draco. Malfoys marry pure-bloods. Always.”

 

“We haven’t spoken of marriage, but I believe we will marry in the future. I’d never abandon him simply because he’s not a pure-blood. I’ve told you my reasons for thinking differently now.” He hesitated. “Mother, you may never change your beliefs, and you may never approve of Harry and I as a couple, but I’d appreciate it if you could maintain a civil relationship with him.”

 

“It would be bad manners to do otherwise,” Narcissa said primly.

 

Draco sighed. “Perhaps I should have said I’d appreciate it if you’d at least try to respect him as my partner. I know very well you can be civil, but there are different levels of civility. I’d prefer the pleasant civility you’d use with a friendly acquaintance over the chilly, ‘I’m only being this polite because I absolutely have to’ type of civility.”

 

Narcissa laughed. “It is always best to be precise when you make requests.” Then she sighed. “For you, because you are my son, I will be polite and truly cordial. Is that sufficient?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Draco felt very relieved.

 

“I’m afraid Mr Potter may have more difficulty being civil to me.”

 

“Yes, about that. We’ve discussed it, and he is willing to meet you halfway by showing you polite respect because you are my mother. I explained to him why you did what you did, and he understands it in a theoretical sense, but because of what happened to him that night…it’s difficult for him to separate out his emotions from the theoretical.”

 

“What did happen to him that night? I’ve never heard the full story. Lucius and Bellatrix refused to speak of it.”

 

Draco tilted his head thoughtfully. “I hadn’t realised that.” He went on to tell his mother everything Harry had told him about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries.

 

When he was finished, his mother sat in silent contemplation for a few minutes before finally saying, “A group of fourth- and fifth-year students held off a group of well-trained Death Eaters for quite some time before help arrived?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The Dark Lord possessed Potter but was unable to do so for long because of the love he holds inside him?”

 

“That is Dumbledore’s explanation for why the Dark Lord experienced pain when he possessed Harry and was forced to release him.”

 

“I wonder if there is more to it than that, but regardless, it appears he is more powerful than I gave him credit for. To break the Dark Lord’s possession that way…”

 

“He’s the most powerful wizard I’ve ever met, or heard of, outside of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord.

 

Narcissa raised her brows in surprise. “You’re serious.”

 

“Yes,” Draco said, nodding firmly. “Once Dumbledore is gone, Harry will be the most powerful wizard in the wizarding world. I believe he could be even more powerful than Dumbledore as he grows older. I’ve seen what he can do—he can do things I was taught were impossible.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“He learns and casts spells that require great magical strength the same way an ordinary wizard might do with _Lumos_. His wandless and nonverbal skills are more than impressive. Did you see what he did at the awards ceremony?”

 

“He cast a shield to protect himself.”

 

Draco shook his head. “Your view must have been blocked. He cast a shield to protect himself, yes, but he simultaneously cast a shield wandlessly to protect the others on stage.”

 

“Simultaneously. That’s impossible.”

 

“Not for Harry. I’ve seen him so it so many times, I’ve lost count.”

 

Narcissa looked suitably impressed. “What else can he do?”

 

“I’m not able to tell you any more; I swore an oath.”

 

Narcissa’s brows lifted so high they almost touched her hairline. “Power so great it must be kept secret? Is he dangerous, Draco?”

 

Draco shook his head. “Only to Dark Lords and Death Eaters. He could do very Dark things if he was a different sort of person. But he’s Light, Mother, and that will never change. He’s Light at the most fundamental level.”

 

“Yet he ties himself to a wizard with the Malfoy name and one branded as a Death Eater.”

 

“Am I Darker than Harry? Yes, of course I am. But being with him has changed me. I could be much Darker, as you well know. I have the ability to cast Dark magic. I can hurt people, Mother, and I can kill. But I have no desire to do so outside of war, or defence. Snape told me I was more like you in that respect than Luc—Father.”

 

“I suppose you are. And I’m grateful for that. You father…he went too deep into the Dark Arts. It changed him to the point that I almost didn’t recognise him as the man I married.”

 

Draco braced himself. He knew now was the perfect opportunity to tell his mother about his father’s death.

 

“Do you mourn him?”

 

“Of course I do. He was my husband. I loved him. Or at least I loved the man he was for most of the years I knew him. He was a stranger to me the past couple of years.”

 

Draco’s gut twisted, but he carried on. “What do you know of his death?”

 

“Only what I read in the paper. He was killed in the Battle at Brimley. You know more?”

 

Draco took a deep breath. “He died by my hand.”

 

Narcissa stared at him, speechless, and Draco quickly continued, “He came after me, sought me out. He left me no choice but to fight him. He left me no choice but to kill him. Otherwise he would have killed me.”

 

“He came after you.” Narcissa’s eyes were stricken, and her face had gone sheet white.

 

“Yes. Mother…perhaps you weren’t able to see it, because you loved him, but towards the end he was mad. Insane. When I was with the Death Eaters, the things he did, the things he said…they were not the actions and words of a sane man. Not the actions or words of the man I had known as my father. He was a stranger to me as well. A stranger who became my enemy.”

 

A tear slid down Narcissa’s cheek. “I denied it. I knew, deep inside me I knew he wasn’t right in his mind. But for him to have gone after you, his son…he was farther gone than I realised.”

 

“I’m sorry, Mother. I wish more than anything things could have happeneddifferently. But if I hadn’t killed him, either someone else would have killed him or he’d be in Azkaban for the rest of his life. I think he’d prefer death.”

 

“Azkaban broke something inside him, pushed him over the edge. I truly believe that. You are right; there were only two outcomes for Lucius, and he would prefer death to prison.” Narcissa sighed and wiped at the few tears that had fallen. “Draco, I’m so sorry. So sorry for you. I wish…how are you dealing with it? You seem to be handling it well.”

 

“I’ve had time to get used to it now. I’m sorry he put me in the position of having to kill him to save my own life. But I don’t regret what I did. I don’t regret giving myself a chance to live.”

 

“I don’t either,” Narcissa said, reaching over to grasp Draco’s hand tightly. “If he had succeeded in killing you…I would have never recovered. I would rather die myself than lose you.”

 

Draco squeezed her hand. “I love you, too.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears again. “Are you happy, Draco? Are you happy in this life you have chosen?”

 

“Happier than I ever thought I would be, or could be.”

 

“Then I am happy for you. Your happiness is all I care about.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I will work to accept your Mr Potter. Your…Harry.”

 

Draco stood and pulled his mother into a hug. “Thank you.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-eight

 

 

Draco white-knuckled the wild ride through the bowels of Gringotts with a grimace on his face. Though he’d travelled this way many times, he’d never gotten comfortable with it. He envied Harry’s ability to take the dips and sharp turns in stride; his boyfriend’s eyes were wide, and his expression wondrous, though he did hold on to the sides of the car tightly. When the car finally screeched to a halt, Draco forced his jellied knees to hold him up as Harry passed his key to Gortamat, the goblin escorting them to Harry’s second vault.

 

The goblin stepped aside after opening the door, and Harry stepped cautiously inside. Torches flared to life and illuminated the area, which was a little larger than his other vault. He scanned the room quickly before looking around more carefully. There were spindly-legged tables with books set upon them and several intricately carved wooden cabinets.

 

He wandered over to the nearest table and picked up an old, heavy book bound in thick brown leather. The cover simply said, “Potter.” A similar-looking book lay under it; it was titled “Bones.” The book under that one was called “Greengrass.”

 

“Family histories,” Draco observed, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “Apparently you’re related to the Bones and Greengrass families.”

 

“Huh,” Harry said. “It never even occurred to me that I might have relatives, however distant, at Hogwarts with me.”

 

Most interested in the first book, he opened it, careful not to damage the old parchment pages. To his amazement, the first page sprung out and unfolded itself into a much larger sheet. As he watched, ink appeared to bleed through the parchment and slowly formed a family tree.

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed. His breath caught in his throat. “I…I have family. Wizard family.”

 

Draco placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed. He could only imagine what it would be like to be suddenly presented with a lineage if you never knew you had one.

 

“Look! I’m related to Molly’s family, the Prewetts! Way, way back, but still. There’s Charles Potter, who married a Black. And a Longbottom—wow, that’s several hundred years ago.” His eyes scanned rapidly. “No Malfoys.”

 

“I didn’t think there were.”

 

“My grandfather’s name was Fleamont,” Harry laughed. “I suppose I got off easy being named Harry.”

 

“You might have been named for your great-grandfather,” Draco said, pointing to a Henry Potter. “Harry can be a sort of nickname for Henry.”

 

“Wow, my grandparents were pretty old when they had my father,” Harry observed, studying the dates. “They died the same year. I wonder how they died.”

 

“It will be in one of the book’s chapters,” Draco explained. “Each family member has their own chapter, explaining important information about them.”

 

“Really?” Excited, he impatiently tapped the family tree with his wand, and it obligingly refolded itself. Harry flipped towards the back of the book. He finally found his grandparents. “Wow, looks like he did a hell of a lot in his life. Died from…dragon pox. Both of them, within days of each other.” He looked at Draco. “That must have been very hard on my father.”

 

“I’m sure it was. Had he married your mother by then?”

 

“I don’t even know what year my parents married,” Harry said as he turned to the next page. His father’s name stood in fancy gold letters at the top.

 

His father. Here was information about his father. There was only one page, but still…

 

Harry drank in the words. He read how his father’s birth had been much celebrated, as his grandparents had resigned themselves to having no children. His father had indeed married his mother shortly before his parents died; at least he’d had her to comfort him, Harry thought.

 

His birth was mentioned, of course: 31st of July 1980. ‘As the seventh month dies,’ Harry thought. Then there was a short paragraph telling of his parents’ efforts against Lord Voldemort, and their deaths at his hand.

 

Harry James Potter was listed as “official heir.”

 

Harry read the page twice before he realised something. “Wait a minute. Who wrote this? It can’t have been my parents, and it’s been locked up in here.”

 

Draco smiled. “The book writes itself. It updates when a person dies.”

 

“Oh. That’s pretty cool. I wonder what it will write about me in the future.”

 

Draco gave Harry a withering look. “I would think that would be fairly obvious.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, of course that. But will I do anything else noteworthy in my life? Or will it simply skip from ‘killed Voldemort’ to my death date?”

 

‘I hope there’s a date listing our marriage,’ Draco thought as he wrapped his arms around Harry from behind. Aloud he said, “You make your own history, love. Even if you did nothing else at all for the rest of your life, you would have done more than most other people.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose so. I guess my ego’s showing, hoping the book will have lots to write about me.” He closed the book gently. “I’ll take this and the other books home with me. I’d like to read them.”

 

“Do you want to look in the cabinets now?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry turned to the nearest one and opened it. It was filled with gold and silver plates and goblets. All of it was engraved with a “P” done in an Old English style.

 

“Well, if I ever throw a formal dinner party, I suppose I’m set,” Harry joked as he turned one of the elegant gold goblets over in his hands. “I wonder when they were last used.”

 

“Perhaps at your parents’ wedding?” Draco suggested.

 

“Could be. I’ll have to ask Remus if he remembers.”

 

He replaced the goblet and moved on to the next cabinet. This one had drawers that pulled out, revealing files of papers.

 

Draco pulled one out. “Property deed.” He pulled out another. “Bill of sale from the 1800s.” He pulled out a third and smiled as he handed it to Harry. “I think you’ll like this one.”

 

Harry’s face lit up the moment he saw what was written on the parchment. “It’s my birth certificate!” He looked at Draco. “I didn’t even know wizards had birth certificates.” He glanced back down at the certificate. “I was born at St. Mungo’s. Were you?”

 

“No, I was born at home. My mother was attended by her personal Healer.”

 

“You have personal Healers?”

 

Draco shrugged. “One is kept on retainer for general matters. My mother had a specialised one during her pregnancy. It was lucky she did—my birth was difficult. It’s the reason I’m an only child.

 

“Oh.” Harry had never considered why Draco had no siblings.

 

Draco closed the cabinet drawer after replacing Harry’s birth certificate. “You can look through these documents later if you want. Next cabinet?”

 

Harry nodded and opened the final cabinet. Lifting the lid of a large leather-wrapped box, he whistled. “Do you think all that’s real?”

 

“Of course it is,” Draco said, laughing. “One doesn’t keep imitation jewellery in a vault. Besides, a family like yours wouldn’t be wearing imitation anyway.”

 

“A family like mine?”

 

“Old, pure-blooded, rich,” Draco ticked off on his fingers.

 

“I see.” Harry sifted through the earrings, rings, necklaces, and broaches that glittered and gleamed in the torchlight. Brilliant emeralds, dazzling diamonds, rich rubies, and starry sapphires dominated, though there were gems of many colours mounted in rich gold and silver settings.

 

“You should wear this,” Draco said, plucking out a man’s ring and holding it out to Harry.

 

As he examined it, Harry asked, “What’s special about it? What kind of stone is in it?”

 

“It’s a signet ring,” Draco explained. “See, it has a P carved in the amber. It’s done intaglio, so it can be used as a seal ring as well.”

 

“Like pressing a seal in wax to seal a letter?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh, I like that,” Harry said, running his finger over the carving. “I think I will wear it. Which finger?”

 

“Smallest on your left hand.”

 

“Hmm.” Harry tried to slide the ring on but it was a little too small. “I suppose there’s spell to make it fit?” 

 

Draco tapped the ring with his wand. There was a golden light, and the ring slipped down into its proper place.

 

“Thank you. I wonder that my dad didn’t wear it.”

 

“Signet rings come and go as being fashionable.” Draco shrugged. “Perhaps he just didn’t like jewellery.”

 

“Do you have one?” Harry went back to searching the cabinet as he asked.

 

“Yes, it’s at the Manor, likely in my father’s jewellery box.”

 

“Will you wear it?”

 

“I prefer the family crest ring. I’ll probably wear that one instead.”

 

Harry pulled out another box, with a grunt. “This is bloody heavy.” He pulled off the lid and found an enormous photo album filled with dozens of photos, portraits painted on canvas he suspected were shrunken, and a few other paintings, along with one tapestry.

 

He inhaled sharply as he realised what he’d found. He’d found his ancestors. He could see the people he came from. He could _see_ his family.

 

He closed the album before he could really look at it, as he knew once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’m taking this box home with me, too.”

 

Draco nodded and cast a spell to lighten the box so it could be more easily carried as Harry cast the spell to summon a goblin to bring them back to the surface. Harry looked around the vault as they waited.

 

“I have a family, Draco. I wish some of them were alive, but it’s nice to know they existed. I can’t wait to learn more about them.”

 

“I find myself to be quite curious as well,” Draco said.

 

The goblin rattled up in the cart, and after a stop at Draco’s then Harry’s other vault for galleons, they zipped up to the surface at breakneck speed. 

 

 

************************************************************

 

 

Harry spent the next two days reading and looking at photos and portraits—the most prized being a picture of his parents on their wedding day. When he finished with something, he passed it on to Draco. The more Harry read, and the more he saw, the more excited he became. When he’d finished everything, he invited Ron and Hermione over so he could show them the pictures and his family tree.

 

“See, look, Ron, we’re even related way back,” Harry enthused as he pointed to the Prewett on his family tree.

 

“Nice to meet you, cousin,” Ron said, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

 

Hermione was poring over the tree in absolute fascination. “I had no idea your family was so old, Harry. The Potters are as ancient as the Blacks, Prewetts, and Weasleys.”

 

“And the Malfoys,” Draco added.

 

“I didn’t either,” Harry said. “You can’t know how amazing it is for me to learn all of this. To know something of my family other than the Dursleys.”

 

Draco sniffed. “They don’t count, as far as I’m concerned. Real family doesn’t abuse its members.”

 

“I find myself agreeing with Malfoy more than I ever thought possible,” Ron said ruefully, “but you’re well shot of that lot. I wouldn’t even claim them.”

 

Harry shrugged. “I suppose I have to be a little grateful to Aunt Petunia for sealing the blood magic that helped keep me protected for so long.”

 

“The only good thing she ever did for you,” Draco muttered.

 

Hermione tactfully steered the conversation back to the Potter side of Harry’s family, and Harry told them of some of his relatives and what they had accomplished in their lives. He showed them pictures of his father as a child and they marvelled at the fact that the eleven-year-old Harry they had met on the Hogwarts Express so many years ago looked so much like his father did at the same age as he stood proud and tall in his Hogwarts robes next to the same train. Hermione and Ron wound up staying for lunch, which Harry turned into a picnic up on the roof. They conjured chairs and a table and enjoyed the lovely spring weather as they ate.

 

Harry was munching on a second biscuit when he noticed Hermione and Ron seeming to have a silent conversation with their eyes. He frowned. “Is something up?”

 

“Not really,” Hermione said after a final glance at Ron. “We just wanted to ask you something.”

 

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Something you think I won’t want to answer?”

 

Ron nodded. “We want to know what you did to Bellatrix.”

 

Harry stiffened a little. “No.”

 

“Harry, we know everything else that happened. We just want that one little blank filled in. Whatever you did to her, she more than deserved.”

 

Harry looked at Hermione. “I can understand Ron wanting to know, but I’m surprised you do.”

 

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable. “It bothers me not knowing. Every time I think about it, or discuss it with Ron, my imagination comes up with worse and worse scenarios. I don’t think what actually happened could be worse than my imagination.”

 

Harry gave her a quiet stare. “It might be.”

 

Hermione just looked back at him. “I don’t think so. I think you took some revenge, Harry. If you did, I’m not going to judge you for it.”

 

“Are you sure, Hermione? Are you sure you won’t think of me differently, think less of me if I did something you believe is immoral? Something _I_ know is immoral but did anyway? I know you think I crossed lines that should never be crossed. I know you disagreed with me using Dark magic. I know you didn’t like the fact that I was willing to kill if necessary. That I did kill. I know those things changed how you think about me. I don’t think I can stand telling you something that will lower your opinion of me even more.”

 

“Lower my opin—oh, Harry,” Hermione said, looking stricken. “I’ve never thought less of you for anything you’ve done. You did what you felt was necessary, and I respect your judgement. What you did saved the wizarding world. I didn’t like you using Dark magic or killing, but I don’t think less of you for doing something in a war that I know you would never do otherwise. And I’m so sorry if I made you feel like I did.

 

“I was more worried about _you_ than the morality of what you were doing. I was worried what price you would pay. I know what kind of person you are, Harry. You’d do whatever necessary to fulfil what you saw as your responsibility to the world and kill Voldemort—you’d do it no matter what the cost was for you personally. You were willing to die. I wanted you to live, but not just be alive. I wanted you to come out of this as whole as possible. I didn’t want you destroying yourself, sacrificing yourself, making yourself into someone you couldn’t live with after the war. I didn’t want you to feel guilt or have regrets. I didn’t want you to suffer for having done what you felt was necessary. The important thing is that you are at peace with your own actions, and as long as you are, I’m at peace with them as well.”

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have known better. I just assumed…I just assumed that you wouldn’t think of me the same way because I was doing things you felt were wrong and that I knew myself were wrong—”

 

“They weren’t wrong,” Draco broke in. “Killing when necessary in a war isn’t wrong; it’s part of war. Using what some Ministry official who’s never left his ivory tower has declared to be ‘forbidden’ magic to fight in a battle, to save your life and to save the entire wizarding world isn’t wrong.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “ _Nothing_ you did during the war was wrong.” 

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I know that, rationally. I’ve told you I don’t have any regrets, and I don’t. There were some things I had to do, and I did them. I did things other people wouldn’t have, did things in a way people wouldn’t have expected of me. I don’t regret doing what was necessary to win the war.”

 

He looked steadily at Draco. “But you know not everything I did was necessary. I did some things by choice. I don’t regret what I did, but that doesn’t mean what I did was right.”

 

“It was right for _you,”_ Draco said fiercely. “You did what was necessary for _you_. For you to heal. To find some peace. You served justice, not only for yourself, but for others. You deserved that justice. You deserved to be the one to deliver that justice. You were the one she’d wronged. You punished her more appropriately than any court ever could, and you didn’t even give her a fraction of what she actually deserved.”

 

Forgetting his audience, Draco leaned forward and took Harry’s hand. His eyes were intense as he held Harry’s gaze. “You closed a door. You closed a door that had to be shut so you could move forward. And you are moving forward. You’re better. You may still have flashbacks in the future, but you’re already having them less. No, you’ll never be able to go back to being the person you once were, but you took the steps you needed to take so you can become who you’re supposed to be. There may be people who would condemn your actions, but they aren’t you. They didn’t go through what you went through. They haven’t lived your life. Their opinions don’t matter. What you did was right for you, what was necessary for you. You did nothing wrong, Harry. Nothing.”

 

Draco was out of breath by the time he finished his impassioned speech. There was silence for a long moment and then Draco saw what he wanted more than anything to see: acceptance in Harry’s eyes. He let out a relieved sigh.

 

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered.

 

Draco smiled a little and squeezed Harry’s hand. He’d meant every word of what he’d said to Harry; if Harry wanted to take that as a declaration of his love…well, Draco supposed he was right to do so.

 

Still holding Draco’s hand and taking strength from looking in his eyes, Harry said to Hermione and Ron, “I commanded fire, and behind the fire, I tortured Bellatrix Lestrange. I used the Cruciatus on her, again, for myself and for Neville. Then I cut off the tip of her ear; that was for me. I killed her with the Killing Curse for Sirius.”

 

“Malfoy’s right,” Ron said quietly after a moment. “You served justice.”

 

Hermione got up and enfolded Harry in a hug. When she finally pulled back, she crouched at Harry’s feet and began to speak softly to him. Harry had his elbows braced on his knees and his hands in his hair, but Draco knew he was listening.

 

Draco was startled when Ron got up and walked around the table to him. He stood to face him.

 

“Thank you,” Ron said gruffly, sticking out his hand. Draco was so surprised he automatically took it. “You said exactly what he needed to hear and you said it exactly how he needed to hear it. I don’t know that we’ll ever be friends, Malfoy, but you and Harry…you obviously know him. Understand him. You…see him.”

 

Ron smiled faintly at the memory of his conversation with Harry when they’d discussed his relationship with Draco. “He says you make him happy. He deserves to be happy. So…thanks.”

 

Stunned, Draco could hardly do more than blink at Ron for a moment. Then he recovered and inclined his head in a respectful nod.

 

Ron dropped his hand and stepped back. He crossed back to his seat, and Draco sat down as well.

 

What the hell? Had Ron Weasley actually thanked him? Had he really just given Draco his seal of approval for being Harry’s partner? A bit unsure of how he was supposed to react, Draco reached for a bottle of beer. He wanted a drink while he tried to process what had just happened.

 

He glanced over and saw Harry was smiling at something Hermione was saying. Good. Smiling was good. Draco sat back and watched as Harry hugged his friend, then got up to walk over to Weasley. He said something to Weasley, who made some sort of reply, and then they did the man hug with slaps on the back. Content that Harry obviously felt better, Draco sipped at his beer and just observed as Weasley passed Harry the plate of biscuits, making some comment that had Harry and Granger laughing. With a sigh, he accepted that these two Gryffindors were now a permanent part of his life. He’d have to remind himself of this moment when he was fed up with them in the future, but for now, he was just grateful Harry had friends that obviously meant so much to him.

 

 

************************************* 

 

 

 


	39. Epilogue

Chapter Thirty-nine: Epilogue

 

“Sweet Merlin, Harry, could you have bought any more souvenirs?” 

 

“I wanted something to remember every place we visited,” Harry said as he unshrank yet another bag, unwrapped its contents, and laid the items out on their bed. They’d arrived back at Grimmauld Place the evening before and had simply been too tired to bother unpacking. Now that they were, Draco was amazed. He had been with Harry in every single shop, but he hadn’t realised just how much _stuff_ Harry had purchased.

 

He picked up a miniature Eiffel Tower and turned it over in his hand. Tacky, but he knew Harry loved it.

 

“Look, here’s the sake set from Japan,” Harry said, carefully opening the tissue in which the delicate cups and carafe were wrapped. “Where’s the bottle of sake you bought? We can have some with Remus tonight.”

 

“It’s over there with the wine,” Draco said absently as he shuffled through various boxes of chocolates and wrapped candies—both wizarding and Muggle—from several different countries. Harry had bought them as gifts.

 

“Oh, here’s one of the bags of clothes,” Harry commented. He dumped out various T-shirts and several pairs of socks. He picked up a brightly coloured pair decorated with different Italian landmarks—the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Colosseum, gondolas. “These are for Dobby. I think he’ll love them.”

 

Draco snorted. “You bought socks for a house-elf?”

 

“Dobby loves socks,” Harry defended himself. 

 

Draco shook his head. “Where are the kimonos?”

 

“Umm…” Harry looked around and finally selected a bag from the floor. He unshrank it and handed it to Draco. “Planning on wearing yours tonight?”

 

“I thought I might.” Draco sorted through various robes until he found his—heavy dark blue silk with a beautifully embroidered dragon crest done in silver. It wasn’t one of the cheap kimonos sold by the dozens in the little shops in Tokyo for tourists—this was of the highest quality. He dug out the one he’d purchased for his mother—it was a soft pink with a gentle pattern of clouds. He thought she’d like it. He set aside the colourful kimonos Harry had bought for Granger and the Weasley women and the more masculine plain ones that were for Remus and the Weasley men. There was even one for Dumbledore. He finally found Harry’s at the bottom of the bag—his was dark green silk with a crest made from the kanji of the word “magic” done in white. They’d found it in the wizarding section of Kyoto; Draco smiled as he remembered how excited Harry had been when the shop owner had showed it to him.

 

“I can’t wait to see everyone this afternoon,” Harry said happily as he started sorting the gifts into piles for each recipient. “I can’t believe it’s been almost four months since we’ve seen them.”

 

After their long trip away, Mrs Weasley was having everyone over for a “welcome back” gathering and lunch at the Burrow. Draco was attending under protest; Harry had held Draco panting on the edge of orgasm one night in Cairo until he’d promised to go. He’d be more irritated by Harry’s manipulation except it had been rather Slytherin, so the irritation at being outmanoeuvred was tempered by pride in Harry’s tactics.

 

Draco hummed noncommittally. He hoped to see his own friends soon. He’d taken a chance and owled some of his Slytherin compatriots just before they’d left for their travels. He been pleased to hear back from them; he’d been worried that his decision to ally himself with the Order of the Phoenix and then get involved in a relationship with Harry Potter might have completely ended his old friendships. He hadn’t bothered to write to Pansy, as he knew exactly where she stood—her family had been strong supporters of the Dark Lord—but he’d heard back from Blaise, Daphne, Theodore, Vince, and Greg. Blaise and Theodore had both taken the piss about him being hooked up with Potter, but otherwise none of them had even commented on Draco’s shift in loyalties. Draco supposed they were likely doing the Slytherin thing and keeping their mouths shut as alienating someone in Draco’s position—the great Harry Potter’s lover—would be rather stupid, but he hoped that at least some of them would actually welcome him back as a friend, not just for political reasons. He wasn’t overly worried about Blaise—Blaise had never been very political, and they’d made tentative plans to get together when Draco returned from his trip. He’d find out where the others truly stood once school resumed, if not sooner if he was able to get together with them.

 

Harry brought Draco out of his thoughts by saying, “Did you want to change before we go to the Burrow? We need to be leaving soon.”

 

“Yes, I suppose I will. I’m assuming, what with this being the Weasleys, that the dress code is casual?”

 

“Very casual,” Harry agreed. “Jeans are fine.”

 

“If it had been up to you, we’d have worn jeans everywhere we went the past few months.”

 

“Sightseeing is causal,” Harry said. “I wore nicer clothes when we’d eat at the fancy restaurants you took me to. I even wore robes in the wizarding sections of the different cities.”

 

“We are wizards; wizards wear robes,” Draco pointed out, just as he had when he’d had this discussion with Harry the first time they’d visited a wizarding area when they’d been in Paris.

 

“I know, and I wore them, didn’t I?” Harry said complacently. “What was that you said before? Dress appropriately for the location and the occasion? Well, the location is the Burrow and the occasion is a Weasley family gathering, therefore the dress code is very casual.”

 

“I suppose.” Draco sighed. “Are you sure I have to go? I imagine the Weasleys would be just fine if only you and Remus turned up.”

 

Harry walked over and wrapped his arms around Draco from behind. “I want you there. I want to be with all of my family at the same time. The Weasleys are my family, and so are you.”

 

“I know. And I suppose it’s only fair since you said you’d go with me to see Mother tomorrow.”

 

Harry was glad Draco couldn’t see his face, because he didn’t think he hid his grimace very well. The things you did for the people you loved…

 

“Draco, I know you’re accustomed to a certain standard when it comes to how you live,” Harry said, a bit awkwardly. “The Weasleys…well, you’ve always looked down on them for being poor. I love the Burrow, but it’s a pretty far cry from Malfoy Manor or even Grimmauld Place. Are you going to be able to handle being there without sneering or looking down your very handsome aristocratic nose?”

 

Draco turned his head to look over his shoulder at Harry. “I have excellent manners, Potter. I know how to be polite.”

 

Harry winced. He didn’t want Draco pissed off at him, but he also didn’t want Draco taking one look at the Burrow and turning up his nose in disdain.

 

“I know you do. I just…I just wanted to, well, make sure you were prepared.”

 

“As long as they don’t live in an actual burrow, I’ll be fine.”

 

Harry laughed. “No, just a very interesting house.”

 

Draco sighed and stepped out of Harry’s embrace. “Let’s get ready to go see this interesting house, then.”

 

Harry pulled him back. “Thank you for doing this.” He dropped a kiss on Draco’s mouth. “I love you, you know.”

 

“And I obviously love you, else I wouldn’t be going anywhere inhabited by multiple Weasleys,” Draco said dryly, but he smiled a little. “Lucius will be rolling over in his grave.”

 

Harry snorted. “I guess so.”

 

Draco laughed and kissed Harry. “That thought gives me a little more incentive to go along tonight. Come on, let’s get ready now.”

 

“Yes, then you can help me pack up all this stuff.”

 

Draco just sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

 

**********************************************

 

 

Draco sat back on a rather lumpy sofa and watched as Harry passed out his gifts and they were exclaimed over excitedly. Everyone modelled their new kimonos, the ladies sniffed their Parisian perfumes, and Hermione and Remus flipped through their new books on various cities’ wizarding history. Mr Weasley, who was apparently fascinated by all things Muggle—much to Draco’s reluctant amusement—played with various gadgets and gizmos, and Mrs Weasley looked rather intrigued by a cookery book Harry had brought back from Italy for her. Ron looked delighted by his assortment of traditional foods and sweets. Everyone seemed quite happy with their T-shirts and other typical touristy souvenirs as well.

 

Once the gifts had all been admired, Mrs Weasley called them all to eat. Draco found himself sandwiched between Harry and one of the twins at the long picnic table set up in the Weasleys’ back garden.

 

“What did you think of Cairo?” the twin asked, directing his question to Draco.

 

“Very interesting,” Draco replied. “I’m sorry, but which one are you?”

 

The twin grinned. “Fred. I’m assuming you toured the pyramids? Took the wizards’ tour?”

 

“Of course. The magic of ancient Egypt is fascinating. It baffles me, though, how Muggles accept the theory that slave labour and such built the pyramids. With only the tools and technology they had at the time, it obviously would have been impossible without magic.”

 

“Some Muggles think aliens built the pyramids,” Harry laughed.

 

“Well, aliens are pretty far-fetched, but at least those people are smart enough to realise humans couldn’t have done it alone with only slaves and ropes,” Hermione observed. “I really want to go there some day.”

 

“You’d love it,” Harry agreed. “You’d love all the places we went.”

 

The conversation continued with Harry telling tales of all the places they’d been and all they’d seen and done. Draco was more than happy to let his boyfriend do the talking, but at the lunch wore on, he found himself being asked direct questions by Remus, Granger, and various Weasleys. He couldn’t avoid direct questions, so answered them as succinctly as he could. His plan didn’t work well for long, however, as they kept asking for more details about whatever he said. He caught Harry grinning at him once and vowed revenge on his lover for putting him in a situation where he was forced to talk to Gryffindors so much. 

 

Thankfully, from Draco’s perspective, the ceaseless conversations wound to a close as the pudding was happily devoured. After an endless round of hugs and goodbyes, he, Harry and Remus made their way back to Grimmauld Place.

 

Later that night, after sipping sake in their kimonos, Harry and Draco lay in bed. Pleasantly tired, Harry shifted to his side to look at Draco.

 

“Thank you for going today. You don’t look any worse for the wear.”

 

Draco snorted. “I can’t remember the last time I talked so much. Your Weasleys’ mouths are perpetually open—either to shovel in food, or to blather on and on.”

 

Harry chuckled. “I can’t really disagree there. But I hope you had a good time.”

 

Draco pondered this. “Well, it was certainly different. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. The twins are clever and entertaining. They spoke to me about a job again.”

 

“Did they? Inventing things?”

 

“Yes. Practical items, something they apparently want to branch out into. I told them I’d think about it.”

 

“And will you?”

 

Draco brushed a lock of Harry’s hair off his forehead. “I am thinking about it. I’m meeting with them Monday to go over their business model, their plans, so I better understand what I’m thinking about doing.”

 

“Wow.” Harry sat up. “You’re serious about this?”

 

“I don’t know yet; that’s why I’m meeting with them.”

 

“But you’d—if you agreed to do this—you’d be doing this after you finished school, yeah?”

 

“Of course, though they mentioned something about an apprenticeship.”

 

“That would be cool. And wonderful experience.” He smiled a little. “I can hardly imagine it—a Malfoy working alongside Weasleys.”

 

“Neither can I,” Draco agreed with a rueful chuckle.

 

“I think you’d be brilliant at it. Anyone who can invent an Apparition Hoop obviously is good at thinking outside the box. You said once you had ideas for other things—is that true?”

 

“Yes, a few things. A couple of new things, a few more ideas for improvements on existing items.”

 

“Well, I’m excited for you,” Harry said, smiling. “I know, it’s just a meeting, but still, I’m excited about the possibilities.”

 

“Possibilities,” Draco mused. “There’s a word I hated for a while.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Primarily because there was a possibility you’d die,” Draco said bluntly. “Then there was the possibility the war would be lost, you’d be tortured and murdered, _I’d_ be tortured and murdered, my mother would be dead, the—”

 

“I get the drift,” Harry said, placing his fingers over Draco’s mouth. “I see your point, but the war’s over. I’d like to think there are more positive possibilities ahead for us now.”

 

Smiling a little, Draco asked, “Such as?”

 

“The possibility of a drama-free, peaceful year at Hogwarts. Of wizarding society healing and moving forward. Of endless ice cream sundaes.”

 

Draco laughed. “That’s a good one.”

 

“There’s one more,” Harry said, a little more seriously. “The possibility of us being together forever. Of us being in love forever.”

 

Draco shifted to pull Harry closer and kissed him, soft and slow. “That’s not a possibility, Potter. It’s a promise.”

 

 

 

 

**~**The End**~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story. I hope you have enjoyed it! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me!


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